Remote Control

Life would certainly be a lot easier if everything came with a remote control. I am thrilled that my “new” car has a remote that allows me to open the door and the trunk at the push of a button – such luxuries I had never dreamed of before! Imagine a remote that would turn on the shower and adjust it to the perfect temperature before you ever had to crawl out of bed and stumble into the bathroom, hopping from one foot to another on the cold bathroom tile. What I would most like now though is a remote to turn on and off my thoughts. There are times when I am ready to contemplate the depth of the world, and times when I would like to just skim the surface. Unfortunately I do not seem to have any control over when the stone of my mind skips happily along the top of the water and when it plunges deep below. Instead I am just along for the ride. I can focus on whatever I am doing at the time, but whenever I have “free” time, or quiet time my mind is pulled wherever the stone has been tossed. Pondering questions of life and death, of meaning and purpose can be enjoyable for a while but then your spirit grows heavy and you grow wary of trying to find answers when there are none to be found. I know just how blessed I am to be alive, to have received almost 25 years of life that no one ever expected me to have, to have been given a second chance of life that most in my situation never receive. So I feel selfish when I want more – when I want to feel secure in believing that I will grow old, when I want to believe I will have the chance to experience all of the things that I dream of and that I see those my age experiencing, when I want to comprehend the why and the how. Why was I given this chance when most infants simply slip over into heaven in the night and their parents are left with all of the questions? Why was I spared the severe brain damage that seemed guaranteed, that was so imminent that the doctors encouraged institutionalization for an infant? Why was I given life when death was decreed by those who see children like I was on a regular basis? I am not any better, I am not any purer, my parents did not pray any harder, my family was not any greater than any of those who did not receive a chance at life. It is something I do not understand. It pulls me in so many directions. I am so blessed and so thankful for this chance and I feel a deep sense of responsibility to make sure that I live my life with purpose, that there is meaning to all of this because if I allow this tremendous gift to be wasted it would be inexcusable. Yet I sometimes become so frustrated with all of the challenges and struggles that I want to yell, to demand something easier only to be reminded how much harder it could have been if it were at all. How can I demand more when none of this should have been at all? Am I selfish to want more when I have already received a miracle? These are the places my mind wanders, the places I do nto mind visiting for a short period of time but that I would like to be able to leave sooner than later. If only I had a thought remote. Instead I have my writing – my journals, my poems, my stories. If I must remain in the depths of my thoughts for a period of time then I can pull from it lessons for myself, and treasured writings, and even gifts of words that will last forever. Writing is my great joy, my means of coping, my art, my escape, my tool of discovery, and my way of creating a legacy. Sounds silly but to me it makes sense. But I would still like that remote!

Holy Grail

On Friday my brown eyed beauty was having one of his reflux days. In order to be free to work with other children we had propped one of his infamous "blue buckets" on his lap in his wheelchair and made him as comfortable as possible. Somehow he managed to knock the (empty) bucket off of his lap and send it sliding across the floor. My little darling observed this very quietly. Then she stood up and went over to where the bucket had landed. With the most deliberate and reverant of movements she picked it up and held it out in front of her. It was as if she were carrying a most sacred Holy object in an ancient religious ceremony. Walking with purposeful and careful steps she carried the "holy blue bucket" over to him and raised it up in offering. Then she placed it ever so gently in his lap and made sure that it was secure before stepping carefully backwards. Cocking her head to one side she took in the entire situation, deliberated, and then decided that it met with her approval because she nodded and then walked off to return to her toys. It was absolutely precious and it was so darn hard not to fall out of my chair with laughter. This tiny little girl with her long pigtails streaming down her back carrying a blue bucket with the most reverance to place it on the lap of her classmate who would most likely fill the sacred vessel with vomit before the morning was through. A sightly skewed, off center ritual of great tenderness and love. My children may not be "perfect" in the eyes of the world, but oh they are so perfect to me!!!

Gimpy

I chase preschoolers around all day. I pick up and carry children who weigh around 40 pounds on a regular basis, children who support varying amounts of their own weight (ranging from none to all). I push wheelchairs up and down hills when we go "off-roading" outside. I am admittedly not in great physical condition but I have lost a fair amount of weight since I started teaching in September. So why on earth am I still so darn sore from the walk I took Monday morning?!? It is not like I have never taken a walk before. Yet my leg muscles are so sore and tight! Yesterday was worse but they are still quite tender and not wanting to stretch today. This is sad. I need more exercise. I need to walk more. I need two tylenol before I go chase above mentioned preschoolers.

Snow Day!

On Friday at school we all performed our variations on the official snow dance. It seems that they all involve a lot of waggling of the hips, some wiggling of the butt, and perhaps some jumping up and down. Apparently God was impressed with our dance skills (or laughed so hard he shook the clouds loose) because yesterday it snowed. It snowed enough to give us the thing we desired most, the thing we were really shaking our bottoms and waggling our hips for - a snow day off from school!! I had trouble sleeping last night due to having slept in incredibly late that morning (I was miserably sick all weekend) so I happened to be awake when the 10:00pm news came on. Hoping with all hope I scampered out to the living room to see if by some chance school had already been closed - and much to my delight it had!! Unfortunately, as the time on this entry can attest I was unable to sleep in on my unexpected day off. How typical is that?!? But I still plan on treasuring every minute of this delightful extra day off from school - a whole free day where I don't have to do anything, where I can do whatever I want (except join those insane drivers on the roads who drive as if they have never seen a snowflake before in their entire lives), where I haev no obligations. I love unexpected free days! This morning I already took a brisk walk to enjoy the freshly fallen snow before the children, also enjoying their free day, destroyed it's beauty. My cheeks are starting to thaw out. I was wrapped up and layered and everything but apparently it was a little colder than I anticipated. Oh well, it was still worth it! I sure did get some strange looks though as I strolled in the snow. Apparently that is odd. I just smiled and kept going - let them wonder. Besides, I was not the one trying to figure out how to clear snow and ice off of a car with a broom! :) Those words are most certain to bite me in the butt tomorrow morning when I have to use my scraper to clear off the remnants of the snow from my car..but at least I own a fancy heavy duty scraper/snow brush. A broom? Amatures! I will load pictures from my snow day walk as soon as the batteries from my camera recharge. I am not sure how they will turn out - it is in contention to become the world's cheapest digital camera. I really wish my nice 35mm camera had not died but it owed me nothing. Oh well, today will be about enjoying the beautiful snow and staying snug inside away from the cold and the rambunctious kids that I am certain will overtake the snow very soon. It is my day off. :)

Blue Buckets

I hate vomit. Now I know that no one is a huge fan of the substance but my dislike crosses over from the normal into the abnormal, phobic realm. When living at home I would go to a hotel for the night when my mother had a stomach virus rather than stay in the same house as someone vomiting. As a child I would go to a friend's house if someone at home was vomiting. Quite clearly I have major issues. It is all my brother's fault - it started when he vomited all over the backseat of the car (and me) because he became carsick but did not give any notice and then I had to sit in the backseat with his vomit for the rest of the ride home. Traumatized? Yep! So I am most certain that God has a sense of humor because one of the adorable little ones in my class has the most unfortunate tendancy to projectile vomit in class at least once a week. Did God not get my memo on vomiting? He has the worst reflux I have ever seen in a child and can "toss his cookies" (ok, toss his formula) like I have never witnessed before. After one recreation of the scene from The Exorcist we began to strategically place blue buckets around the classroom with the hopes of catching the vomit. I also brought in a change of clothes after just barely leaping out of the way (previous post covers this topic - I seem to write about vomit a lot...go figure). So today we all got to practice our catching abilities and I think we used every one of our blue buckets. Within the span of an hour the little guy vomited seven times. Um, I think that crossed over from reflux to just plain sick and I finally insisted he go home (three sets of clothes later). Major bonus points to the substitute assistant who ran across the room and caught an eruption in a smock and a bucket. I could not get from where I was to him in time. When he leaves I shall send a blue bucket on to his next teacher - it just seems like he should take one with him for the road.

What Do You Have On Tap?

I am teaching the kids in my class wonderful, healthy eating habits. For example on Tuesday we had a "tea party" where they had "ice cold cocoa" and oreo cookies. The ice cold cocoa is in reference to the Snowmen at Night book we are reading and, well, cookies just go well with chocolate milk (the ice cold cocoa). So one of my little ones was working with physical therapy and was not-too-happily standing in a gait trainer/walker (piece of equipment that helps a child stand and learn to take steps - not always appreciated by the child). He was rolled up to the table where he crossed one leg in front of the other so only the toes of that foot were resting on the ground, bent one arm, rested it on the table, and then leaned forward onto it. He looked almost exactly like any grown man standing at a bar waiting to receive a drink. The jaunty foot crossed, the arm bent to one side and leaning on it, the head cocked to one side, the "I don't have all day lady" look he gave me as I was pouring his chocolate milk and looking for a straw. Later, after a good shot of chocolae milk, he walked for the first time by himself in the same walker/gait trainer!! Granted he screamed and cried the entire time but he walked a good 15+ steps across the entire classroom!!! Go blue eyes, Go!! The screaming and tears were his way of informing us that he might be doing it,but he sure as all get out did not want to be doing it! Oh well, guess what he is now going to be doing every day? Maybe I will have to start running a milk bar to reward him. Wonder what I should keep on tap?

Snow-where to be found

It is January. Yesterday it was in the 70s. What the heck?!?! I chose this month to do a unit on Winter because, well, according to the calendar it is WINTER! So each day we read about things like mittens, snowmen, snowflakes, cold and then cheerfully burst outside into sunshine and toss our coats into a pile before we clamber all over the playground. Yeah, I am sure the kids are really making a lot of connections between what we are doing in the classroom and real life!! Then again, am I supposed to keep these plans in a file somewhere and pray it snows sometime this year so I can interrupt whatever we are doing and pull out the "winter" lesson plans and do them then? The snow would only last a day or two anyway and most likely school would be closed the whole time. Ugh!! My kids must think I come from another planet when I discuss snow and sleds and skis and snowballs and snowmen and anything requiring more than a few inches of snow. Heck, even snow is probably an abstract concept to them. So we will forge onward with out styrofoam snowballs and snow, our paper snowflakes and shaving cream snowdrifts. If nature refuses to cooperate I will do everything in my power to create a sense of snow in the classroom even if it is spring-time warm outside. If my children could talk I can only imagine what they would say....like have you lost your mind???

Splish Splash!

From the time I was little I have always treasured a long, hot bubble bath. When I was small I would put on elaborate "shows" for cameras that only I could see - cooking shows where I was better than Julia Childs because I could turn soap and water into Filet Mignon, fashion shows where Barbie walked hand in hand with GI Joe, diving competitions where they competed in diving from the faucet into a mountain of bubbles, infomercials selling anything I could create from my hodgepodge of filched and stashed bath toys. As I got older baths became time to escape whatever was going on outside the bathroom door and dive into a book. Sometimes I would not emerge until I finished an entire book, which based on the length of the book may or may not be a feat worth mentioning. I had to purchase a few library books that took an accidental dip in the water when I knocked them off the edge of the bathtub over the years and I soaked many of my own books this way. The wonder of all of this is that for a large portion of my childhood and all of my teenage years we only had one bathroom. So for the hours (yes hours) that I was in the bathtub my mother and brother were stuck without access to a bathroom. Generally I limited myself to the two hour range because beyond that my skin would be pickled and pruned for what seemed like days on end. My mother could have set a strict time limit for these baths but she recognized that I needed that escape, that I treasured that time and that pleasure of hot water, bubbles, and a great book. My brother grumbled and called me many names, some of which I am quite certain he could have patented because they were completely new combinations, but he really could not do much about it since it was parentally-sanctioned. There were a few times when I had ice dumped in on me as a not so subtle hint that I had pushed it too far (I almost always pulled the curtain even though I was guaranteed privacy...maybe that explains it!) but looking back I am amazed that there was not an all out sibling war over that one. Even though we may not have had a lot and things often got rough with issues that seemed impossible, I could always escape for a while into a land of bubbles and books. Not the most common coping mechanism but one that I now treasure and still use - and still occasionally have to fish a book out of the water.

Damaged Goods and Detours

I tend to be horrible at analogies but that is not going to stop me from trying one here. Just hold on tight and try to follow me. I figure that life is a lot like shopping and stores. For a chosen few there are elite stores where there are bathroom attendants, doormen, valet parking, and personal shoppers. Here you find the best items, the items that are ornamental, flawless, crafted from expensive and superior materials. These would be considered the show pieces. Next there are the department stores and the chain stores where you might find a greeter, a line at the checkout, and a parking lot where it is every man for himself. The items here are functional, solid, marked with only small imperfections, crafted from accessible but reliable materials. These would be considered the practical pieces. Finally there are the discount stores, the odd-lot stores where you are likely to find items jumbled on shelves or stored in bins. There is no consistent stock because the stores sell whatever is cast aside by the department and chain stores. The items here are all flawed in some way: dented cans, torn boxes, mismatched clothing, scraped or wobbly furniture. These would be the damaged goods. In life people can fall into similar categories: show pieces, practical pieces, and damaged goods. I love my life with all of its quirks, fumbles, and frustrations but I am damaged goods.
Detours refers to the fact that God has a tremendous sense of humor. Just when I start to believe that I have this life figured out, that I understand what He has planned for me and where I am going my life gets turned upside down. At the exact moment that I believe the path is most clear it either drops out from under me or takes a sudden, dramatic turn that I never expected. These are the detours, the unforeseen changes in my plans that wind through foreign but beautiful territory. I have learned that the detours are just as precious as the path, just as meaningful, and just as important to my life. Although I still gasp each time one arises and foolishly try to return to the marked road even though I know by now the only way back is to follow the detour through to the end.

Ticket to Ride

I think I have purchased a one way ticket to Hades and now I am just to enjoy the scenery on the ride there. Perhaps my ticket was made official on the day that I asked one of my four year old students with down syndrome to flip someone off. In my own defense he already had been taught the skill at home and I was only assisting in genearlizing the skill to a new setting by asking him to "show me the bad finger" and then asking him to show a particular person the bad finger when they came into the room. I think at that moment I heard the coins drop into the box and my ticket emerge. So today I merely got another hole punched on it when I laughed hysterically as one of my students vomited on my assistant. It would not have been funny at all except he had been giving us hints that he was about to throw up and I had suggested that she might want to either move herself or reposition his wheelchair. She did neither and joked about him vomiting on her or the other students. Cue vomit. I laughed so hard I nearly wet my pants. She alternated between laughing hysterically and shrieking in disgust. The other kids just stared wide-eyed at us as they contemplated the meaning of the adults having lost whatever sanity they had been pretending to possess. That was the end of circle time. Unfortunately, I was the only one of us who has thought ahead and brought in a change of clothes in case of a leaky child and so she was stuck with nothing more than a sponge bath via Clorox wipes. I predict tomorrow a bag of spare clothes for her will join mine in the OSHA closet. For a little guy with some prety significant issues, his comic timing is perfect. And as for me, well I guess I just have a ticket to ride.