Is It My Kid?

I was walking today with a friend of mine that I met a couple of years ago. Our girls were in the same class and they had hit it off, we had hit it off, all was happy and new. We would see each other off and on as would our kids.

The following school year, our girls were in different classes. They had lunch and recess time together, still, but there definitely had been a shift. I didn't hear her name often. There were no requests to play with her. The mom and I didn't see each other anymore, either. When we bumped into each other, all was fine, but we didn't connect outside of that as before.

I asked my daughter if she and her friend had a falling out. She said not really. They just played different games. I asked if they could still find some games to play together, maybe, and I got the shrug off.

But I wanted to ask her more. I wanted to know if she had disrupted the friendship. I asked her, "Have you done anything to upset your friend?" She said she had not.

I wasn't convinced.
Was it my business?
Should I push this any further?
Is there a reason why I am getting involved in her friendships?

There are articles circulating right now about raising polite children, kind girls, kids who won't be a bully or a brat. I do my best to make sure my kids are well schooled on what it means to be a friend and a kind person in their world.

I wanted to begin a refresher course with her on friendship to be sure she remembered what it took to be a thoughtful person. I also wanted to stay out of it because who was ever involved in the picking and choosing of my friends when I was a child?

I realized I wondered if the lack of time I spent with my new friend was related to the lack of time our girls had with each other and I got a little panicky. What if my child had been mean and now I lost a friend?

Did I call or email? I did not. I didn't know how to approach it. I had such little time with my long standing friends, too. My socialization is at a minimum for me. I just let it all slip away.

A new school year has since begun.

Today, the mom quite easily said to me that it seemed our girls were getting along again.
"YES!" I blurted out. "I noticed that, too." I was counting steps along side of her, lost on how to ask the question,

"Was it my kid being the punk?"

What was I to do if she said yes? Would she say yes? Would she say no? Would she know either way?

Then I wondered, why do I assume my child to be the one who ended it? Why did I assume it is anyone's fault? Haven't I dropped off from being with those I used to be friendly with? Isn't that really a part of the ins and outs of years passing us by? Why did this take up so much of my thinking?

I'm still working it all out. I made sure to say that I hope my child hadn't done anything to upset hers and she said she didn't think so. I have to take that as the answer and let everything be. We even spoke of a possible get together for the girls soon. My plan is for that to include some time for us.

I find that my children are extensions of myself. My mom used to say to us as we left the house, "Your behavior is a reflection on my raising you...!" with her leaving out the inferred "Don't make me look bad." I can't help but feel the same. However, there comes a time when our children's behavior is all their own and, hopefully, with all the lessons, examples, talks, and guidance, their behavior will be a practice in kindness.

Me & My Yogi Tea. 4

How much do I listen? What percent of the time am I fully engaged? Not waiting for my turn to speak. Not formulating my thoughts to go next. Not touching, glancing, thinking about my damn phone.

Present. 

Open. 

All in. 

Listening. 

If It Isn't Yours, Then Don't Take It.

I wasn't sleeping well and decided to get up and fit in a huge chunk of reading time. While waiting for the sun to rise on my porch so I could see the pages, I was reading through some articles about the leaked pictures of Jennifer Lawrence and I got all agitated. So now I'mma gonna write.

I'm pretty sick of butt shots of the Kardasheans (sp?) and the Miley low cut tops with tongue to the side pictures. But, whatever. These women are comfortable putting themselves out there in that way which is their right to do. See-through dresses, reality shows, humping wrecking balls- have at it, ladies.

A woman like Jennifer Lawrence, though....she is just being an all around amazing actress, goofy pal, and great role model for the younger generations, thank the freaking lord. And now this. What a violation.

We know we live in a time where we have to be hyper vigilant about what we put out there because it stays forever and can be shared in the blink of a second thought. We have to teach children that what they share should represent their beauty- inside, and can violate their beauty- outside. They can make themselves victims without any breath of awareness.

What agitates me the most on this morning is the people who share and the people who look at these pictures. Does the thought of seeing JL naked sound appealing? Sure enough does! Does the thought of leering in her house to see her naked sound appealing? Nope. And that is essentially what the pictures are to me. I am not someone who feels that if someone drops something, it becomes mine. And she didn't even drop these. They were stolen. And so was her trust in what is around her. You know the panic she must have felt. She is someone's daughter.

I think, as I am wading through this, I feel like this is another example of how sometimes women exist for others solely as an object. As a desire. It is the moment when the human is lost. The value of the person is stepped on. I think about the times I have been grabbed at inappropriately by those I have known and not known when they had no business touching me. What makes me up as the person I am was non existent to them. I was purely a vessel with wide hips or freckled skin or whatever was fueling their want. My very SELF was disregarded.

So I will continue to not look at pictures. I will continue to hold the secrets friends trust with me. I will continue to talk to my children about privacy and mindfulness in their every action. I will continue to see the very self of people around me.

Me & My Yogi Tea. 3

This saying made me think of the safety caution on airplanes: Put your oxygen mask on yourself first. Then help others. Many grow up knowing to respect others, but do we remember to appreciate ourselves? We compliment other people as we should, but aren't always polite to the person with whom we spend the most time. This also makes me want to remember: when complimented, just say Thank You. You obviously earned it in someone's eye. 

Me & my Yogi Tea. 2

Don't adjust your screens. Don't rub your eyes. The shot is blurry. My shame runs deep for that. 

However, the message is clear to me. When I'm asked how I can support someone who has let me down, how I can see someone else's side of the terrible story, how I can forgive whatever it is I forgive- this is how. It anchors me. One never feels grounded in their anger or negativity. I feel adrift when empathy is lost. 

Me & my Yogi Tea. 1

My Yogi Tea bag says.....

And I say, yes. This is what I teach my children. The only things they don't have to share are their germs, their lovies, their negative thoughts, and my ice cream.

Just Right Fit

I did not sound like a 40 year old while talking to my mom that afternoon.

“I haaaaaaated sixth grade, Mom!”

“I know”, she said in that familiar calm voice my mom has always had when I have been at my wits end; understanding and a little placating.

“I can’t work in middle school for a whole school year. Filling in at the end of last year was one thing. This is a no.”

Silence on the other end of the phone.

“I’m a First Grade teacher for Pete’s sake!”

“But, Kate. Don’t you think those middle schoolers need you? Don’t you think you would be best for the job as someone who suffered through Sixth Grade?”

Silence on my end at this point.

“Gak” was all I could come up with.

So I called up my best friend and my husband. I just complained a bit more to whoever I was talking to and they listened and encouraged and supported and knew they were just there to hear a rant from me. I called back the Assistant Principal.

”Yes, I would love to be a middle school Instructional Assistant. Thank you so much for thinking of me.”And thus started my school year working with Sixth Grade and a curriculum I had no desire to re-learn.I breathed deeply through the first weeks of school; getting to know the students I was working with, learning the style in which each child learned, figuring the mood and approach of the classroom teachers, and sensing my role within the classroom. I sweated a lot. I eyed the “cool kids” with apprehension. I heard every joke of mine that fell flat echo through the silence that followed. I lost my appetite. I overate. I was nowhere near just supporting these students with learning differences, I was revisiting a time in my life when I was heavy, wearing bad clothes and huge glasses, and had few friends. Some days no friends if they had all decided on that before I had gotten to school that morning. PTSD lite.

I remember a few weeks into the school year knocking on the Assistant Principal’s door to say “Thank you” for reaching out to me to take on this role again that I had finished for someone the Spring before. I was proud to have been thought of, appreciative to be employed in such a great school district, and raised up well enough to say thank you for something, even if it isn't exactly your cup of tea.

As time went on from there, I became more comfortable with the students. I started talking up in the classroom to ask for some clarification from the teachers knowing the students….that I...had missed a point being made. Questions I never would have asked when I was 11 or 12. I became more strongly the advocate for the student who was so very disruptive, felt every regret for the one who just didn’t do his homework, received the drop in the gut when she got back her test with a failing grade. I researched some topics being covered in class to add to the explaining of this or the reasons for that when studying with my kids. I stopped to talk about home life with those who could not move on from their math problems until they cleared their heads of their worries. I came down hard on he who chose an afternoon of sports over his study guide, or on her laziness when it came to finishing the chapter assigned. I high fived every success on a quiz, beamed at every hand raised, even if he got the answer wrong. I laughed at every joke they told because they were so funny, and teared up at any thought of not working with her again next year, of not seeing him at this school anymore. 

In late spring I was called into the principal’s office to discuss the following school year. He said he had some bad news and some good news. The bad, I was being pink slipped- last one in, first one out of a job. The good news, he knew an opening was coming and it would be in early childhood education- perfect for me.

The noise in my head went from buzzing, hearing I was being let go,  to roaring when I heard I wasn’t going to be in middle school anymore. Not be with middle school? Not be with my guys? Early childhood? Better fit? I was lost.

And then, I wasn’t.

The principal said that if I really was hoping for a different grade level, he could see what could happen. I realized my facial expression must have been purely confusing to him. I shook the look from my face and said, 

“I’ll go anywhere. Anywhere you need me.” 

And I would. Even when I saw a glimpse of Eighth grade. Even when I thought of glitter and clay and helping to brush teeth in Pre-school. It didn’t matter where I was placed. I am a teacher. I am meant to be this. In my younger years I thought I was meant to be a First grade teacher and that was it. How closed minded I was then. How closed minded I was a year ago. I had shut myself off from so much by limiting myself to a grade level rather than seeing the vast role as a teacher. I love and work well with students, regardless of age. Regardless of what is being taught or how it is being taught. It doesn’t matter if it is my classroom or I slip into someone else’s room. I am in a child’s corner. That is my job. That fits just right.