Summer Camp

When I was younger, I attended a day camp in Ann Arbor called Camp Hilltop. And as you can imagine, it was at the top of a very large hill surrounded by woods. I spent many years there and absolutely loved it. I eventually went to Camp Al-Gon-Quian, a sleepaway camp on Burt Lake. There are certain things about these two camps that I remember, and it was my experiences that led me to take a summer camp job during college. I worked at two different camps and both had profound impacts on me. 

I knew that when I had kids I wanted to send them to camp. There is nothing better than being outside all day long with new found friends. All three of my kids have attended camp. For one, it was not his thing. But it was for the other two. 

Both of my girls go to an all girls camp, Camp Arbutus Hayo-Went-Ha. It is located on Arbutus Lake in Traverse City. One of my favorite things about this camp is it builds strong girls into women. It is also a trip camp. The older you get, the harder your trips are. My youngest chose to go for two weeks this year. She spent most of her time at camp but was able to experience a two night, three day trip canoeing down the Au Sable River. She had a great time, but she is a two-week girl. 

My other is not. She would spend her whole summer there if I let her. She has already been there for four weeks and will go back for another two. Over a two week period, she backpacked 113 miles on Isle Royale. On our drive home yesterday, I heard it all. The stories. The moments. The memories that were created. 

Her cabin consisted of two counselors and eight campers. She spent the first few days at camp experiencing everyday camp life and preparing for her trip. Then they were off on their journey. She has been looking forward to this trip for years, and it was everything she imagined. We received a few letters from her that documented her trip. One of my favorite lines was, "Day 7, Today we hiked 11 easy miles." I am not sure if I would call hiking 11 miles easy with a 40 pound pack on my back, but kudos to the counselors who provided an experience for my daughter and her cabin mates where 11 miles is easy. 

One of the things that happened during this trip was writing. Each evening someone different would write in the trip journal. At the end of camp there is always a big banquet. Each girl in the cabin received a copy of this journal as proof of their amazing feat and as a memory of their time together. 

I am so glad that camp found me as a kid, and I am glad that both my girls have found a home at Camp Arbutus Hayo-Went-Ha. 

Isle Royale Trip Journal

Twenty Plus Years

One of the things that I appreciated most about my mother is the fact that whatever activity my sisters and I wanted to try out when we were younger, she found a way for us to participate in it. I have tried multiple instruments, dance classes, art classes, and an array of sports. Some, I stuck with for many years. Others, it was a season or session. 

At 16, my sophomore year of high school, I picked up a lacrosse stick for the first time and instantly fell in love. I was fast and had a quick grasp of the game. I played both JV and Varsity that first year. My junior and senior year, I found myself on varsity with one of the quickest draws in the midwest. I lived and breathed this game and gave up my prom for a tournament out east. Unfortunately, my college did not have women's lacrosse at the time, so I hung up my stick and wouldn't pick it up for another 30 years. 

Well not quite 30. I picked up my stick four years ago and began coaching my daughter's U10 team. I used my stick daily in practice to explain a concept or drill, throw and catch with the girls. But it has been 30 years since I played in my last lacrosse game. Until this summer. 

I saw a post about a women's league for anyone 16 and older last summer. I eyed it all summer. Thinking. Could I keep up with girls half my age? Do I want to make the drive? The summer came and went, and I never followed through. Then I saw the post again in May. The Detroit Women's Summer League was back, all proceeds going to the Detroit Youth Lacrosse summer program. I reached out to the coordinator, curious about the age of the participants. She immediately calmed my fears and because of her and the mission of the league, I signed up. 

Honestly, I had no idea what to expect. When I showed up, I couldn't believe the amount of women who had turned out and apparently the coordinator couldn't either. We had enough women to scrimmage full field (24) with six subs. And thank goodness we had subs. There were high school girls, women who were currently playing in college, and some slightly older who had played division 1 and won national championships. All could play both hands. I was clearly the oldest by 20 plus years. I started to wonder if I had made the right decision. 

When I played in high school, we used wooden sticks and mouthguards. You only played your dominant hand. Things have changed A LOT in 30 years. Gone are the wood sticks replaced by aluminum or titanium shafts and plastic lacrosse heads. And goggles. Something that makes a lot of sense that I never had to use. 

For this league, goggles and mouthguards are optional. I thought I would try the goggles out. Um no. I lasted three minutes before I tossed them on the sidelines. I don't know how my players play with them, and I must admit that after my three minutes of wearing them, I have a lot of admiration for my players. 

I played middie, the only position I have ever played and let me tell you something, I definitely was out of shape. I forgot how much running you have to do. And did I mention how much older I am than everyone? These women are young and fast but also incredibly encouraging! Despite my slowness, I found my stride and had a blast.

With each game, I am improving. My cuts are sharper, I have had a few shots on goals, and get most of the ground balls. I am starting to get compliments on my play from these women whose skills are well beyond where mine ever were. I am so proud of myself. Proud of putting myself out there and playing a game that I love, even though I could be everyone's mother. 

Except the ref. Her name is Ann. We played against each other in high school. We are the same age. But I am still older. I have her by a month. 

 

Every Class Needs an Ian

I have taught for 25 years. Twenty-five. That is a really long time. A quarter of a century. And this past school year was the hardest year of those 25. Harder than my first year, where you either sink or swim. I have had people ask me what made it so hard. In one word: stress. Stress of distances, masks, behaviors, and the unknown. It seemed that changes were happening. Every. Single. Day. 

I love my job. After spending the majority of my career in a self-contained upper elementary classroom, I took a leap and found my place in a DK-1st grade creative arts setting. I teach STEAM and art (as an isolated subject) to littles. I have found my people. One thing I LOVE about this age group is they are happy to see you every day. It doesn't matter if the day before they were having a breakdown or sitting in the think spot. Every day is a new day through their eyes. 

I feel fortunate because I see all the students in my building. I feel like the fun aunt. I play with them once a week then send them back to their classroom. But this year was stressful. There were behaviors presented that I had never seen before (and I thought I had seen it all my first two years in Detroit). By the end of the school year, I was ready for a break. More so than I had ever been. But first, I had to teach two weeks of writing camp for the Red Cedar Writing Project at MSU. 

I was excited about my two camps but it took a lot of energy to get there. My first camp was a Storybook STEAM camp for kids going into 2nd and 3rd grade. It was four afternoons with five students. It was lovely. The following week, my co-teacher and I taught Wizarding World of Writing to ten students. On the first day, I recognized two kids right away because I had taught them STEAM just the year before. One of them recognized me right away but the other didn't. I said, "Hi Ian. Do you remember me? It is Mrs. Waugh. I was your STEAM teacher in K and 1st grade." It took a second and then the lightbulb went on. 

Our group of students was amazing! They loved all things Harry Potter, and the writing they produced was unbelievable. But one student stood out more than any other and that was Ian. Ian was easy going, talkative, excited to share, and write. Although he had just finished 2nd grade, you wouldn't have known it because he worked so well with everyone and had great writing stamina. He was patient and kind. He would be the first person to tell you good job. And he was happy. So so happy. 

Ian was a breath of fresh air when I thought I had nothing left to give. He got me excited about what my co-teacher and I had planned for the week. He helped me see things through his eight year old curious eyes instead of my tired ones. I loved just talking to him. It reminded me why I became a teacher in the first place. To ignite excitement for learning. 

Every class needs a boy like him. In times when you think you have nothing left in the tank, Ian will be your biggest cheerleader. 

Thirty Days

Thirty days. That is how long I am giving myself although I hope it ends up being longer. I've read that it takes 21 days to form a habit. Then I read that it is a myth. I am not sure what to believe but 30 is the number that popped into my head last week and so 30 days it is. 

There are a lot of things I would like to do. And so for the next 30 days, I am going to do those things. 

This idea came into view last week while I was on vacation.  I found myself thinking about a friend who lost her father. It was an unexpected loss. One minute she was talking to him and the next, she wasn't. Her loss has affected me more than I imagined it would. I never met her father, but when she writes about him, I can tell the profound impact he had on her. The stories from her childhood have me wishing that I could have been one of the lucky ones to walk through the revolving door of her home. And these stories reminded me of the importance of writing. 

I sent her a card with three field journals. It was a small gesture to encourage her to write down these stories as memories not to be forgotten. And I found myself thinking. 

I know first hand the pain she is feeling as I lost my own mother 24 years ago.  I started writing when I was 14 years old. I have journal upon journal on a bookshelf in my bedroom. These journals tell of my everyday life. But then the writing stopped. June 5, 1998. The day my mother died. I have tried, unsuccessfully, to start back up. 

The death of my friend's father has brought up emotions and memories of what I went through so so many years ago. I know how she is feeling just by looking at her; it is as if there is an unspoken bond between us now. 

And this death has me thinking about my own family. What do I want them to know when I am long gone? What memories will they share about me? And I can't think of a better way to do this than through writing.

So for the next 30 days you can follow me as I try to pick up my pen again and write. Write about things that are important to me and memories that I have and things that are just floating in my head waiting to be turned into a story. 

And maybe, just maybe, you might be inspired to write too. Little pieces of you that will become treasures to someone else. 

Memories from my life that will one day become my family's treasures.

Sketchbook Town-My Take

I graduated from Albion College in 1996 with a degree in Elementary Education and Visual Arts. Part of the reason I chose a visual arts degree is because I just loved art. That's it. I had no intention of becoming an art teacher. I went on to teach in the gen ed classroom for 21 years starting in second grade and ending in fifth. My lessons incorporated a lot of art because it was fun for me and the students responded well to it. I also had this ability to see the lesson before I taught it. But after 21 years, I was burnt out. I just couldn't correct one. more. paper. 

But I knew that I wanted to continue to teach and found my dream job: a creative arts teacher in a DK-1 building teaching STEAM. Teaching STEAM did not make me nervous and was not new to me. This concept is how I had taught for 21 years. Teaching littles, however, was a different story. I quickly learned they are just like fifth graders but smaller. I mostly used the same strategies I had in my previous classrooms but at their level. 

My students come to my STEAM class for an hour once a week. For the first two years in my buidling, the K art program was almost non exisitent until it was. I tried my best to incorporate a separate art lesson into the STEAM classroom but this proved to be challenging. Then COVID happened. While we were virtual, I offered to teach art virtually along with my STEAM lessons. When we came back in person this past fall, I knew we needed to continue to offer a separate space for the K kids to have art, so they saw STEAM and art as different classes. My plan was not ideal, but it worked. I would see the K kids one week for art in the art studio and the next week for STEAM in the STEAM lab. And we have been doing this since the first day of school. 

I NEVER thought I would love teaching art as its own entity, but I do. Before I actually taught my first class of straight art, I found myself with that familiar panic from four years ago of uneasiness. I delved right into reading art teacher blog posts, joined art teacher communities, and bought a few books. I then stumbled upon Cassie Stephens. I liked her right away. I liked her ideas and the language she used to make connections with her students. I ordered her book Art Teacherin' 101 and read it in one sitting. There were many ideas in her book that definately would work for me. The one that I loved the most was her earlier finishers idea of Sketchbook Town. Because of the lack of space in my art studio (I share with two other teachers), I tweaked Sketchbook Town to work for me and my students.  It took months and an inquiry approach with my students to get it where it is today. 

When I first read the idea, I knew it was going to happen. During my first kindergarten art class, I had one container of early finishers coloring sheets. I explained to the students what they would be doing second, when they were done with their masterpiece. On this particular day, I showed them the coloring sheet and talked about Sketchbook Town. I told them that Sketchbook Town is a place they could visit when they were done with their masterpiece and would be coming soon but for now there was Practice Sketchbook Town. Sketchbook Town was sending different art skills to practice before they felt they were ready to make an appearance. Practice Sketchbook Town wanted to make sure they used small strokes when coloring and all white spaces needed to be filled in. I don't remember what masterpiece the students completed that day, but I do remember what one of my student's said. "I wonder what Practice Sketchbook Town will bring us next time we have art."

With that, I knew what direction this was going to head. 

The following art class, I set up a bulletin board with a title that read Sketchbook Town. I mirrored Cassie's painting, rules, and what you can do when you visit Sketchbook Town. I also added another activity in Practice Sketchbook Town, scissors skills. We had just learned how to use scissors in STEAM class so this fit perfect. When the students came in, I showed them the bulletin board and said, "It looks like Sketchbook Town is leaving us clues!" I also told the students that there was something new in Practice Sketchbook Town today, scissors skills. So now the students had a choice or could do both activities if they had time after their masterpiece was completed. 

The Finished Bulletin Board

For the rest of September, October, November, and December, Practice Sketchbook Town gained a new skill each time. Many of these activities were going to find a home in Sketchbook Town, but the students could practice them each time they came to art. There is playdough, how to draw books, coloring, scissors, beading, just creating, and the Beautiful Oops bin. During all this practice, there was no sketchbook for them because they were just practicing. And Sketchbook Town continued to leave us hints with rules to follow and a shelf of new materials.  The students were bursting with excitement and couldn't wait for the grand opening of Sketchbook Town.

It started as one practice activity and evolved to this!

It was in December when I told them that I heard Sketcbook Town was going to be open for visitors after winter break. I wondered with them what they would bring us. How would it look? Then a student said, "Do you think Practice Sketchbook Town will still be here when Sketchbook Town opens?' And with that question, I answered, "Yes." 

I spent a day over winter break getting the art studio ready for Sketchbook Town. Nothing elaborate but some new decorations and wall decor. Enough for the students to notice. I also wrote a nice letter and created 200 Sketchbooks. 

 Sketchbook Town

I am not sure who was more excited, me or the students. But the week finally arrived where I would repeat this lesson eight times. It was a hit! They all noticed the new decorations and decor, loved the letter inviting them to Sketchbook Town, and decorating their sketchbooks with paint sticks. Then they got to go visit Sketchbook Town. They loved the painted mannequins (another Cassie idea), little animals, and legos. I know they love to build because I have them in STEAM class, but this time after they build something, they sketch it out and many times, color in their sketch. Some students chose to not visit Sketchbook Town but went to Practice Sketchbook Town. 

Some new rules were put into place. You only need your sketchbook when visiting Sketchbook Town and no markers were to be used in these books. Sketchbooks stay until the end of the year but you could bring anything home you completed in Practice Sketchbook Town. Sketchbook Town and Practice Sketchbook Town would always come back on two conditions: 1. You don't rush through your masterpiece. 2. When I say it is time to clean up, it is time to clean up. If one or both of those don't happen, they will not come back the following art period. 

So far so good. The studnets LOVE the two choices to visit. No one rushes through their masterpieces and ALL the students know what to do when they are cleaned up. Sketchbook Town and Practice Sketchbook Town have made an appearance each and every time except one. They were both out of town BUT left their cousins in their place. Cousin Must Do and Cousin May Do. 

A Gift

About a week ago, I stopped by my friend Frances's house for a short visit. She had just returned from Houston where she spent five months fighting a disease that had invaded her body a second time. Her family thought it would be great for friends to stop by and say hello. It would cheer her up. I knew that Frances had lost weight and was slow to respond when she was awake, but I never expected to see my mother in Frances when I arrived. 

My mother passed away from the disease that was trying to take Frances. There were so many similiarities between the two of them. When I walked into the room where Frances lay, propped up at an angle by the support of the bed she was on, I was brought back to June of 1998. I was looking at Frances but seeing my mother. 

Frances's breath was steady and slow. I talked to her as her "sister from another mother" stroked her hand. I told her about school, how my district hadn't made a decision about what it would look like in the fall, and how I was patiently waiting. 

Twenty-two years ago, I had a similar conversation with my mother as she lay in almost the same position, unable to open her eyes, but able to hear my words. I was just finishing up my first year of teaching. She had grown fond of the students in my classroom and got to know them through the stories I told her. 

During that first year, I had a second grader named Kamiah. She was tall, kind, and hardworking. She was curious and always proud. I remember her infectious smile and detail to everything in her handwriting, daily work, and art. 

My mother took her final breath during the last week of school of my first year of teaching. I never completed the year but somehow everything got done. 

Recently, Kamiah crossed my path as Frances fought to survive. And I can't help but think my mother had something to do with it. 

Because of the pandemic, Kamiah was laid off from her job in April. Looking for something to fill her new found free time, she started painting. Kamiah has a natural gift. It is evident in her work. She recently started a daily challenge to practice and improve her skills. I knew the moment I saw the painting of Day 1, I had to have it. I reached out to her about purchasing this painting and received it a few days before I went to visit Francis.  

Day 1

This painting means so much more to me than I could have ever imagined.  Everytime I look at it, I see a young Frances. Forever loving life and touching those who were lucky enough to have crossed her path. 

My dear friend Frances lost her battle this morning with her family by her side. Rest in peace my sweet friend. You will be missed. 

Frances

To view Kamiah's art, please visit:

meahs_art on instagram 

Meah's Art on facebook

Taking It With Me

It sits high at the corner of MLK and Malcolm X. I see it every single day when I drive to work right before I turn right to head onto the freeway. It's a white billboard with a large black circle in the middle of it. Inside that circle are white letters that remind me of my one little word (OLW) that I chose for 2019. Actually, it isn't really a word but a phrase: You got this. All year long that billboard remained there exactly the same. And every day as I drove past, I silently said those words.

There were days that life got overwhelming between the pressure that I put on myself at work to driving my kids to their activities to working a second job at night to this and that and the other. But the funny thing is that each time I started feeling that way, I envisioned the billboard and repeated those words because one day life will slow down and the kids will be gone and You've got this will have a different meaning.

As 2019 was coming to a close, I started to think about my OLW for 2020. A few days ago I had been reading an article in Magnolia by Joanna Gaines. She was reflecting on her year and how she likes to be busy all the time but realized that life moves fast. And in this article she talked about a phrase that she is going to work on for the new year. As soon as I read it, I knew that this was going to be my OLW (or phrase) for 2020: Look up.

So going into 2020, I am going to look up more. I am going to revel in my kids and the age they are now. I am going to slow down and live each day. Worry less. Know that things will get done when they get done because I am a doer. Take in the moments. And just live.

I am also going to be taking my OLW from 2019 with me into 2020 as well. I didn't anticipate this happening until about 12:30 in the morning, when not one, but both of my girls decided to ring in the new year with the stomach flu. As I woke every hour after hearing momma, helping them walk to the bathroom to finish emptying the contents of their bellies, pulling hair back, washing bowls, disinfecting over and over, I did take a moment to look up. At that moment, I was appreciative. Appreciative that I was on break so I could take care of them. Appreciative that despite of everything, they will get through this. And appreciative of the moments of silence when they are both resting so I have enough time to write this post.

Because sooner rather than later, You got this is going to run through my mind until this stomach bug is out of my house!

Forever and a Day

I am in this club. But not by choice. It's a club that no woman ever thinks she will be in but many find themselves there. Some when they are very young. Still girls. Others later in life. Regardless of the age you join, there is one thing for certain: every member knows how you are feeling.

If you aren't a member, you just don't know. You just don't know how it feels until it happens to you. And my only wish, readers, is that you don't have to join for a long, long time. The club I am talking about is the motherless.

It was twenty-one years ago, this evening, that my mother took her last breath. She was in the comfort of her own bed ready to go home to her own mother, father, and older sister. They had long passed but on this night they were there. She saw them and was ready.

No matter how many times I replay that night in my head and how sad I get about it, I always feel a sense of comfort. She left the world with the same people who brought her into it. 

My mother was an amazing woman. She raised three strong-willed, independent girls while working full time at whichever job suited her: teacher, social worker, lawyer, business owner. She created memories for my sisters and me while teaching us the value of hard work and volunteering. I spent my high school years building homes for Habitat for Humanity and serving meals to those less fortunate. After my mother had died, I learned about all the things she did for my friends. I never knew about this and probably never would have, but my high school friends reached out to me with sympathy letting me know how much they appreciated her kindness.  

I often think about how much good my mother had done in the world during her short 54 years. She was a shining example of what it meant to pay it forward. In all her months of being sick I never once heard, why me? Our conversations were always about others. Like many mothers, she put everyone else first.

Every few years, in her memory, I feel an urge to do something for others. I am a firm believer in paying it forward and try to do it as much as I can. This year, I am going to pay it forward for the entire year (June 2019-June 2020). Each month, I will send a $50 check to a teacher to use for their classroom. You might need Kleenex or pencils or papers or markers or a new game. You might go to garage sales to try to stretch it. Maybe there is something you think your students might like but would never spend your own money on because you are busy spending the money on things that your students need to be successful. Whatever it may be, I trust that you will use that money in your classroom and the things you buy will benefit your students. I trust you, because that is what my mother would have done.

My mother at 26. 

That Magical Place

Dear 2019 Camp Arbutus Hayo-Went-Ha Staff,

I grew up going to various day and sleep away camps. It was one of the only places during my youth that I felt I belonged. When I went away to college, I found myself working at Camp Arbutus Hayo-Went-Ha during the summers because I loved being outdoors, and I loved the impact that I had on the campers. I even worked at camp after my first year of teaching but couldn't go back the following summer because I was too exhausted when I started the school year. It wasn't fair to my new class of students.

I missed being at camp so much that I started bringing my students up there. For 19 years, I gained the trust of the parents in my classroom to allow me to take their children three plus hours away for three to five days. And here is what happened. The kids in my classroom that struggled were shining stars at camp. Those days at camp were exhausting but my students got to experience something they probably would never be able to: the magic of camp.

There is something about camp that only camp friends can understand. There is a closeness and bond that is unbreakable, and it doesn't matter if you are there for one summer or ten. You will grow in ways you never thought possible. You will become more independent, self sufficient, mothering, and creative. You will learn how to really talk and listen to kids. As much as this summer is about you growing as a person, it is also about helping your campers grow too.

Some of these girls are away at camp for the first time. Most by choice and some not. It is your job to build a sense of community and closeness in your cabin. That is most effectively done by building relationships with your campers. You will have campers that you gel with right away and others that might drive you a little nuts. You need to look past that and find something that bonds you two together. These girls have one chance at childhood and you are a big part in it. EVERYTHING about camp will leave a lasting impression on them. Make it good. Make it positive.

My daughter, Kate's first year at girls camp was during the summer of 2018. She was familiar with the grounds and cabins because we had attended a few mother-daughter weekends together over the years. She went to camp knowing no one and left with tradition and memories that she has spent the last school year talking about. She has an entire shelf of just "camp clothes," has started making lists of things she needs to remember to bring, and is anxiously waiting to meet up with her friends from last summer and the older girls that befriended her. She continues to sing songs and tell anyone who will listen about Super Saturday, the food fight, casino night, and the fourth of July.

Kate is outgoing and is a camp girl. She adapts to pretty much any situation and tends to go with the flow. She can be the messiest girl in the cabin or organize a cleaning party. She is inclusive but shy. .She is ten and is already starting to talk about the extended trip to Alaska. Here is what I know.  Kate LOVES camp because of the tradition, activities, and you, the counselors.

You will be exhausted. You are mother hen to a full cabin of girls. Take care of yourself. On your day off, rest. Take it easy. Recharge. Because although this summer is about you, it is also about them. The young girls that leave their families for two to four weeks and for some more. Camp is a magical place. And if you don't know that already, you will. Soak it all in. Learn. Grow. But most importantly, be a role model for a young girl. This is one reason why I send Kate to camp. She needs to see that women are strong, can be in leadership positions, and are capable of going through life truly happy with who they are.

A Letter to My Mother

I have been thinking a lot about something Prince Harry said recently after the birth of his son. He said, "Missing a mother is like missing some type of security." As this Mother's Day comes to a close, those words remind me that mothers are the glue that hold a family together. And when you have lost your own mother, no matter the age, a part of you is and will always be missing. So in honor of my mother today, the 20th Mother's Day without her, I have written her a letter. It is found below.

Dear Mom,

You never knew this but six months before you passed away I went to see a lady who read my star chart from the night I was born. She had some interesting things to say, and I believe she had a bit of psychic ability. She told me that someone very close to me was sick and that she wasn't sure she was going to make it to Mother's Day. But if she did, then she would pull through the month of May and pass away sometime during the summer months.

It was the day before Mother's Day of 1998. Heather, Dad, and I were at the hospital. You didn't look well. All of your energy was drained from your face and eyes. You were saying your good-byes; I was for sure that this was it. I had prepared myself for what was to come. Waiting for a phone call that night. But one never came. The next day Heather and I went back to the hospital because Dad had stayed the night. We went to your room and you were no where to be found. All of your stuff was in its place but not you. We inquired about your whereabouts and one of the nurses said you were walking around with Dad. Heather and I searched the halls for you, eventually finding  you talking to another patient. I looked at you and knew. Knew that we had been given more time with our beautiful mother. You were in full spirits, the energetic mother I always knew. You said you woke up feeling great. We spent Mother's Day with you in the hospital. I don't remember what we did or talked about. I just remember leaving feeling grateful that I had one more day with you.

The call came late on June 5, 1998. I was at my apartment already in bed because I had to teach the next day. I was finishing up my first year of teaching down in Detroit. The school year was a week from from being done, and I was not around to see the end. There were more important things to tend to. I found comfort in knowing that your dad, mom, and sister came to get you as you took your last breath. You were always a believer in spirits and the afterlife. And this belief brought you peace as you moved on to the next chapter of your life.

Within two weeks of your funeral, I went to work at summer camp. It was there that I met John, and I know you had a hand in that. Do you remember the note you left my sisters and I? The one where you told us how you saw us in your eyes? I still have it. And I find it only fitting that you saw me as your quiet girl who loved the outdoors. You saw me for who I was and never wanted to change me. And that boy you sent me. We were married five years later.

As I get closer to the age of your passing, I find myself remembering more. I remember all the things you did for the three girls you raised. The countless hours of driving us to this practice or that game. Providing us with opportunities to pursue our interests. Trusting me as a 16 year old to use your car. Showing me how to sew and allowing me to travel to another country alone when I was 18. Putting up with my crazy ideas knowing it wasn't right for me but letting me figure that out on my own. Making me call you every night as I traveled across the country alone by u-haul.

Above all you were a mother. One who knew when to let her girls go but always worried about them. You were the glue that held us together. I only hope that I am the type of mother to my own kids that you were to us. I miss you Mom. Every. Single. Day.

Love your middle child,

Elana

Giving Back

Today I took my daughter, Sophie, to Justice to use a gift card that she received for Christmas. This was the umpteenth time we have been to this store in the past two months. There were a few things she had been eyeing and decided today to get one of those things. 

She is really good about money. Last fall, I had given her and her sister cash to use at their will for back to school shopping. She and her sister both went through all their clothes prior to shopping, so they knew what they needed to buy. They ended up giving eight bags of clothes that didn't fit to a family that has two girls younger than mine. They felt good that their old clothes were going to a new home, and I was giving them the opportunity to buy what they needed and wanted.

For me, though, this was all about budgeting. The first thing they asked about were coupons. Once they knew what stores they wanted to go to, we searched online for some. Surprisingly, we found a few. I made sure to give them cash so they could see exactly how much money they had left. I held onto one kid's money while their dad held onto the other. We followed their itinerary. Let's just say that a trip my husband thought would be over quickly lasted many many hours. Both girls would look at how much something cost before trying it on. They both wanted to make sure they bought the things they needed before they bought what they really wanted. I heard things such as "Oh, that's a good deal." and "That's too expensive." All in all, they bought a lot for the amount of money they had. I was proud of how they realized that you really must take your time to price things out and sometimes you can't have what you want. It was a really good experience, and one I will do again.

Ever since then, both girls have been very conscious about what they spend their money on. So today, Sophie bought a watch. She went to check out and the total was $15.74.

The cashier asked her, "Do you want to round up the total to $16.00 and donate to Girls on the Run?"

I explained to Sophie what that meant and she replied, with bright eyes and a big smile, "I do Girls on the Run! Sure."

I keep replaying her reply in my head. She was so excited to give to something that she was a part of. Something that she loves. It wasn't much. But it was something. And it made her heart happy to know that she is giving a little something to an activity that she adores.

Being Inspired With: Hello there...

Yesterday, I read and commented on a post that I thoroughly enjoyed reading and thought it would be fun to try. Inspired by Elisabeth Ellington's post who was inspired by Aggie Kesler, here is my take on Hello there.

Hello there...

I am a rather quiet person. I always have been although people mistake me for bring shy, which is something I am not.

I keep a box of memories in a wood box made from a barn on my dresser. It contains my life with my husband since we began dating, shortly after the death of my mother.

I wish I could have one more day with my mother. I would tell her so many things. But most importantly the profound impact she has had on me as an adult.

I could live unplugged for the rest of my life and be happy. Life slows down dramatically for me when technology is not around.

I love my job. I have found "my place" and will be in this job until I retire.

I dance in my dreams. I don't really have much rhythm, only wished I did.

I sing a lot in the car. I am one of those people who will belt it out when I am alone.

I think that reading and writing should be taught together in upper elementary school. When students see the connection between the two, they see purpose.

I really enjoy running. There is something about it that allows me to think and clear my head.

I need to learn how to relax. I work too hard and never really take time for myself.

I should take it one day at a time instead of worrying about everything that needs to get done.

I can think of ideas quickly. It is one of the things that saved me in school because it definitely wasn't my grades.

I make my grandmother's Italian pasta and meatballs really well. It is the only thing that I can really cook.

I always am reflective. I reflect on everything I do, especially teaching.

A Five in the Tens’ Place

It was in the fifties today, my first day of spring break. The sun was even out for a while. And what a difference it makes when there is a five in the ten's spot.

My body had a renewed sense of energy.

My lungs felt lighter.

I walked almost three miles for the first time in months.

My kids were in shorts.

And we stopped for some ice-cream with the cousins.

It is amazing what a little math can do.

These Feet

I knew there was something not quite right about my feet in seventh grade during one ballet class. I couldn't quite get up high enough without tremendous pain. I went home, told my mom, and was in the doctor's office within a week. No arches. My feet were as flat as they could get. The doctor had me fitted for insoles. I remember being in more pain with them in my shoes than without. I ended up abandoning them and just dealt with it. I quit ballet but remained in all the other sports (softball, volleyball, soccer, and basketball) that I was playing at the time.

When I was in high school, I fell in love with lacrosse. It involved a lot of running, which was something I was good at. I played center and had free rein of the field. After my junior year, I realized how much I loved to run. I ran my first 10K that summer and placed in my age group. I continued to run and ended up running cross country in college because my school did not have a lacrosse team. It was then that I realized I was a runner.

After college, running was my constant. But it was a few years into my teaching career that I realized those pains in my feet, that I had ignored for so so many years, were screaming at me. I ended up in a podiatrist's office. He wondered how in the world I was even walking on them. He said if I did not have surgery on my left foot, I wasn't going to be walking when I was 40.

At, 27 years of age, I ended up having triple arthrodesis, a surgery that fuses different joints to your foot. It ends up relieving pain. The four hour surgery became seven  because my foot was that bad.  I was on bed rest for a month and in a cast for three. If you ask my students, they would tell you that I limped for over a year.

My doctor told me that I most likely would never be able to run again.

I listened to him.

Until I didn't.

Four years later, I was back running but with a different appreciation for the sport. I started from ground zero and worked my way up to half marathons (my favorite distance). I have had set backs through injuries (IT band, tendinitis, unexplained muscle pain). Each set back gives me an even greater appreciation to be able to participate in the sport that helps define who I am.

Currently, nineteen years after my surgery, I run three days a week at a 90/30. Ninety seconds of running and 30 seconds of walking. When done correctly, you stay consistent. You never hit a wall, and surprisingly, can set personal records.

But now I appreciate my feet more than ever because it is not my feet giving me the problems, but my lungs. Four weeks ago I came down with asthmatic bronchitis. When this hits my lungs, it will be weeks before I can run. On Monday, I was able to walk for 20 minutes until my lungs were heavy. Today, though, I hit 35 minutes! Thirty-five minutes of walking with a friend on this beautiful spring day.

And my feet.

They led the way.

Twenty-Four

I first started playing lacrosse my sophomore year of high school. It was new to Ann Arbor, and the only teams we played were in the Detroit area, mostly private schools. These girls were good because  they began playing at a very young age.

So when I had the opportunity last year to involve both of my girls in a U10 lacrosse program, I jumped at the chance. And I volunteered my time to help coach them. The team already had two other coaches (both volunteer dads), and we ended up making a really good coaching team.

Unfortunately, this year most of my players from last moved up to the U12 team, including the two other coaches. In January, if all players returned, I would be lucky to have had five players. You need at least nine players to field a team. So I did a little recruiting. Encouraged girls to come try the clubs free stick sessions. Before I knew it, I had 12 girls showing up consistently. Well apparently, these girls had fun, because they started recruiting their friends.

Currently, I have 24 girls on my roster. Tonight we had practice; it was such a fun time. Many girls were upset when it was time to go. They wanted to stay longer. I have been so impressed with how quickly they are picking up the sport, and I am beyond excited for the season. These girls have stepped out of their comfort zone to try something new.

That.

That right there tells me a lot about who they are.

This Girl

This girl. 

Smart and creative. 

Outside of the box thinker.

Actually, will get her own box.

Cardboard over technology.

Athletic. Kind. Thoughtful. Writer. 

This girl. 

My girl. 

Middle child. 

Just like me. 

Teaching the Argument

My son's strengths in school are math and science. They come as easy to him as writing does to my daughter. Writing, on the other hand, is not his forte. We have an agreement. Because his English teacher (who my son adores and has helped him find his love of reading again) does not conference with him about his writing, Mom gets to. He is not allowed to turn in any final copies until we have sat down so I can give him honest feedback and offer suggestions through questioning. Actually, we have been doing this for years because no writing teacher has ever conferenced with him about his writing. This baffles me but that is another story.

Until this year, I taught fifth grade. And thanks to a good friend of mine, I  figured out the best way to meet with my 90 writing students about their writing. Each week. So I know it is possible. How else will a student improve as a writer?

Apparently my son has been turning in paragraphs at a time and didn't see this as a final copy. Tonight, he turned in his conclusion paragraph. He put forth good effort, but it was a mess. The only thing he had to go on was what needed to be included and according to him, he had everything. If everything includes at least four sentences, then he had that. So we talked about what a conclusion looks like. How one can restate their thesis with different words but getting the same point across? How do you summarize what you have already said? What can you say to make the reader think?

We had an agreement, and I was not clear enough about it. Now, we will go through the rest of his argument, paragraph by paragraph. I don't care about his grade because I know he put forth all he had. What I do care about is that he continues to improve and grow as a writer. And one of the only ways to do that, in my opinion, is through conferencing.

Some Days

Some days are better than others.

On some days, the ideas come. They are loaded in my mind waiting to come out through my fingertips.

Then, there are the other days.

On these days there is an idea or two or three. There is not much information in my brain and those words don't flow out of my fingers like they do on some days.

Today is one of those other days. I could write about my first lacrosse practice with my U10 team. Or I could write about studying French with my 13 year old. But I don't want to write just to get this written. I want to write to write.

I might have to wait until tomorrow. A day I hope to be a some day.

The Power of Music

I am not musically inclined.

When I was younger I took lessons on the clarinet, trombone, piano, and guitar. I play none of those instruments today and struggled through those lessons 35 years ago.

I love music though. I love listening to choirs sing, bands perform, and orchestras serenade.

I love musicals too, Annie being my favorite. When I hear the orphans sing "It's a hard knock life," I am brought back to the beginning of my teaching career when a student of mine at the time, Stephanie, was cast in the role of Molly in the local production of the show. I remember sitting in the audience and listening to her belt out her parts. I can still picture her eight year old self.

Today while I was out and about, the Counting Crows came on the radio. Instantly I was back in college, sophomore year to be exact. Sitting in my dorm room. I remember it distinctly. I then got to thinking. What is it about music that elicits memories?

I don't really have an answer.

Because I am not musically inclined.

Dede, Pronounced (Dee Dee)

When my daughter, Sophie, was about eight months old, we went camping in the Upper Peninsula in Michigan. We were about an hour into the trip when I realized that we forgot Dede at home. I quickly alerted my husband and requested that we stop at the closest Target to get another one. She'll be fine. He said. She won't even notice. He said.

Let's just say that Sophie barely slept the entire time we were gone. She didn't have Dede. Dede has been a constant in her life since she was born. I would often find Dede over Sophie's face while she slept. When Sophie was awake, Dede was there on whatever adventure Sophie took her on. If Sophie was hurt, Dede was who Sophie went to before me.

Dede has been with Sophie for nine years. But last night something happened. I went to tuck Sophie in, and she tossed Dede to the end of her bed.

"Soph, what are you doing?"

"I need to work on not sleeping with Dede."

I didn't even ask why.

I was upset. Upset that my youngest is no longer little. Upset that her lovey might not be the most important thing in her life anymore. Upset that I was reacting this way.

Maybe Dede isn't just important to Sophie but to me as well. Because Dede reminds me of Soph's childhood. And she is growing up, and I am not ready.

Dede