I wrote this back in August. I'm not sure why I never hit publish,but here it is.
For as long as I can remember, I've wanted to have children. Unfortunately, I have not had biological children, but I have been blessed with approximately 914 babies in the last 18 years. They don't live with me, they go home most days at 3:00 and I give up custody of them every June. I am a teacher and these are the only children I will most likely ever have.
The first came to me as innocent seven year olds. Some scared, some excited, all ready to learn and to be loved. We had great days - lots of laughter, learning and a few tears of frustration (their's and mine). I spent nine months watching them grow. They learned how to do double digit subtraction, write in cursive and began to appreciate authors. I cheered their accomplishments, became a surrogate soccer mom, comforted some as they experienced the death of a loved one for the first time, was an occasional carpool driver and disciplined (when necessary). I can't imagine that it's any different from being a parent to a seven year old.
I moved on from the seven year olds to ten year olds. We had great days - lots of laughter and learning and a few tears of frustration (their's and mine). I spent nine months watching them grow. As with the seven year olds, they continued to learn - how to infer, make a percent from fractions and decimals, and about their changing bodies. I cheered their accomplishments, became a surrogate volleyball mom, comforted some as they experienced the death of a loved one for the first time, watched as they attempted to flirt with each, encouraged them to overcome their fears and disciplined (when necessary). I can't imagine that it's any different from being a parent to a ten year old.
Every June I had to say goodbye to "my babies." Most stayed in the same school and moved up to the next grade. Some moved away (and I moved away). Yet, I have been fortunate enough to know where most of them are today through the beauty of social media. I cannot begin to describe the swelling of pride in my heart when I hear about their accomplishments. Just in the past few weeks, one student began medical school, another graduated from college, yet another begins his first year of college. Right now in my mailbox there is a wedding invitation waiting for me from a former student. My babies are getting married and having babies of their own.
In these last few weeks leading up to a new school year, I think back on all of the children I have had. I may not know where every one of those 900+ are, but for nine months of the year, 7 hours of every day I loved them as my own. Even though they are adults, I still think of them as my babies. Just the way parents think of their children.
When my new group of second graders begins in a couple of weeks I will get 24 new babies and I can't wait for the adventure and to see where they will all go from here.
Saturday, January 18, 2014
Saturday, March 23, 2013
My Last Hope
Katie called today. It makes my whole day when my phone rings with her mom's number and on the other end I hear a high squeaky voice say "Hi Aunt Mary!" (her r's are better it used to be Mawee). Some days the calls are to tell me her latest news, give me free 8 year old advice and sometimes it's just to see what I'm doing. Not today. Today she has made a decision for me.
After a shopping trip to Charming Charlie with her mom, she's decided that I need to get married. And soon it seems as her parting words were "make it snappy."
This is the only person in the world who was on my side when I said that I didn't need anybody in my life. This is the girl who for years now has said that I cannot get married. For a long time I wasn't even allowed to have a boyfriend. She was my excuse when people would ask me why I wasn't married - "Oh I can't, Katie won't let me get married."
One pair of white sparkly shoes and some jewelery and her whole mind has been changed. Now I must get married so that she can be flower girl. She wants to wear white sparkly shoes, have diamonds and wear a beautiful dress (let's remember that it's supposed to be the bride's day but she doesn't see it that way).
How funny to see her grow up and change her attitude about things. How sad to see her grow up. She's the closest thing I have to my own daughter. She is a beautfiul, kind hearted, brilliant, animal loving child. She doesn't have a mean bone in her body. Everything with her is kittens, horses, rainbows and peace. The one thing she never concerned herself with was boys. I fear that it won't be long now before those phone calls begin to come in. Probably from her own phone, not her mom's.
And I'll listen. And smile. When she's 16, it will still make my day to hear her voice. I can't wait for her to have all of the adventures that this life has in store for her.
I'd go on, but my eyes are welling up thinking about her at 16. For now I need to go get ready to go out because I have a date tonight. Katie wants me to get married so she can be a flowergirl and I always give her what she wants (and she knows it!).
Monday, March 4, 2013
Scared to "Death"
At my annual doctor's appointment on Thursday morning, I was told that their was an abnormal thickness in my breast. I heard her say it, but I didn't digest it. Things moved very quickly - "we'll move your mammogram up"; "if there's something questionable there an ultrasound will be done immediately."
With the mammogram scheduled for 8:30 the following morning I left. As I drove home, my day off - sushi with the boys, afternoon with the Godchildren, margaritas with my friends - didn't seem half as exciting as it had only an hour earlier. My very first thought as I pulled onto Greenville Ave. was to call Charlie, he'd say the right thing. Then I remembered. I couldn't call him, he was gone. I could talk to him but he wouldn't answer. Those thoughts brought back the flood of memories of the phone call when he told me he was sick. He didn't know much, but thought it was cancer and it didn't look good.
At this point I was sitting in a parking lot, using that MD I earned from Google. According to Google, it didn't look very positive for me. I didn't know what to do, I didn't know who to turn to. At some point, logical reason kicked in. I didn't know anything. There was nothing I could do until I knew what it was. I did my best to go on about my day as planned. I ate more sushi than I needed to, spoiled K and C with milkshakes at dinnertime when I should have gotten them smoothies (and then promptly left them on their sugar high with their parents), and went to Glorias for many needed margaritas.
Nothing in this world prepares you for the aloneness that you feel when you are waiting for news. The ultrasound over, the technician left the room (after taking careful measurements on the computer) stating that the radiologist would be in shortly. I layed on that table crying in fear. I was so alone. There was no one with me. All these thoughts went through my head - what would happen, how could I afford this, what would I tell my parents.
I was one of the lucky ones to leave that office last Friday. I have cysts, nothing out of the ordinary. How many women were not that lucky? What must have been going through their minds? How scared were they?
Whoever is reading this, please remember that life is so, so, so short. You're guaranteed nothing. Forgive the people you need to forgive, spend time with your parents, brothers and sisters, do the things you've always wanted to do but don't think you have time for. Don't wait until it's too late.
With the mammogram scheduled for 8:30 the following morning I left. As I drove home, my day off - sushi with the boys, afternoon with the Godchildren, margaritas with my friends - didn't seem half as exciting as it had only an hour earlier. My very first thought as I pulled onto Greenville Ave. was to call Charlie, he'd say the right thing. Then I remembered. I couldn't call him, he was gone. I could talk to him but he wouldn't answer. Those thoughts brought back the flood of memories of the phone call when he told me he was sick. He didn't know much, but thought it was cancer and it didn't look good.
At this point I was sitting in a parking lot, using that MD I earned from Google. According to Google, it didn't look very positive for me. I didn't know what to do, I didn't know who to turn to. At some point, logical reason kicked in. I didn't know anything. There was nothing I could do until I knew what it was. I did my best to go on about my day as planned. I ate more sushi than I needed to, spoiled K and C with milkshakes at dinnertime when I should have gotten them smoothies (and then promptly left them on their sugar high with their parents), and went to Glorias for many needed margaritas.
Nothing in this world prepares you for the aloneness that you feel when you are waiting for news. The ultrasound over, the technician left the room (after taking careful measurements on the computer) stating that the radiologist would be in shortly. I layed on that table crying in fear. I was so alone. There was no one with me. All these thoughts went through my head - what would happen, how could I afford this, what would I tell my parents.
I was one of the lucky ones to leave that office last Friday. I have cysts, nothing out of the ordinary. How many women were not that lucky? What must have been going through their minds? How scared were they?
Whoever is reading this, please remember that life is so, so, so short. You're guaranteed nothing. Forgive the people you need to forgive, spend time with your parents, brothers and sisters, do the things you've always wanted to do but don't think you have time for. Don't wait until it's too late.
Tuesday, September 4, 2012
The Greatest Man I Know
Those who know me well know that we (my sisters, brother, sister-in-law, mom and various aunts, uncles and cousins) call my dad Mister. It's a long story, but the name came about when I was around 4 and my sister Clare 3 because Mister would spend a lot of time lying in bed watching TV. His head on his pillow. He became Mister Pillow, but that name got shortened over the years. Sadly now I can't remember a time when I ever called him daddy, though I'm sure I did. There are days I think I should again, but I doubt it would be as endearing as "Mister."
There's a song by Reba McEntire called "The Greatest Man I Never Knew." In it Reba sings about her dad, he lived "just down the hall." He read his paper every day and he thought she hung the moon. Mister's room was always at the opposite end of the hall from me. To this day he reads his paper, every day. Sometimes more than one. Everything she sings about is Mister. I think Reba must have been living secretly in the third floor of our Philadelphia house or in the attic in Hollywood.
The thing that brings the song home for me is that he never said the words "I love you." My mom would say it. He never did. I don't know if it was his generation or if he just thought I knew so he didn't have to say it. I always wanted to hear it though.
One day I swallowed my pride and decided I'd say it (I never said it either). His response "I love you too." Now every Sunday when he calls he tells me that he loves me. Sometimes he even says it first.
Happy 81st Birthday Mister. You are the greatest man I know.
There's a song by Reba McEntire called "The Greatest Man I Never Knew." In it Reba sings about her dad, he lived "just down the hall." He read his paper every day and he thought she hung the moon. Mister's room was always at the opposite end of the hall from me. To this day he reads his paper, every day. Sometimes more than one. Everything she sings about is Mister. I think Reba must have been living secretly in the third floor of our Philadelphia house or in the attic in Hollywood.
The thing that brings the song home for me is that he never said the words "I love you." My mom would say it. He never did. I don't know if it was his generation or if he just thought I knew so he didn't have to say it. I always wanted to hear it though.
One day I swallowed my pride and decided I'd say it (I never said it either). His response "I love you too." Now every Sunday when he calls he tells me that he loves me. Sometimes he even says it first.
Happy 81st Birthday Mister. You are the greatest man I know.
Seeing Clearly
I wrote this back in June, but never posted it. It still seems like a good message (one I could use now). : )
I have shocking news for you. Many of you may be surprised by this, but I feel as if I need to let you know. I was a geek. That might even be putting it generously. I wore my hair in a pony tail for all of junior high. I had thick Coke bottle glasses and hideously crooked teeth. I won’t even get started on the acne that blossomed before everyone else’s (or so I thought). I moved to South Florida with my heavy Philadelphia dialect (“wooder” instead of “wah-ter” try that with my last name). I was teased mercifully. By the time I got to eighth grade, I felt that it was acceptable to be spat on. At least it made me feel like I belonged and then I was less than a geek.
Thirty years later (please don’t do that math in your head because I in my mind I’m 22), that junior high girl is gone, sort of. Gone are the crooked teeth (I still have to wear a retainer at night), the ponytail is worn only on really hot or bad hair days, the glasses have been replaced by contact lenses (most of the time). The Philadelphia dialect is slowly being replaced by a Texas urban twang (I can get my Philadelphia on when necessary though). The acne has been transformed to laugh lines.
However, the self conscious girl who was teased and spat on is still deep down inside me. She doesn’t come out often, but when she does, the only person who sees her is the one who reflects her in the mirror. The 13 year old girl in the mirror still wants to be accepted. She still wants to be pretty. She wants to be normal. She wants everyone to like her. She wishes she was thinner, smarter, and had whiter teeth.
We hear so much on the news these days about bullying. The latest story is the grandmother who rode the bus every day and the kids taunted her. She is a woman in her 60’s who was brought to tears by 13 and 14 year olds. Why does this go on?
They say that you hurt the ones you love the most. I know those kids in junior high didn’t love me. I was their entertainment. I doubt seriously that the kids on that bus give Karen Klein a second thought when they’re not on that bus. To them it was just fun.
I am 100% guilty for making fun of my friends. 100%. I do it. They make fun of me too. Usually it is just friendly fodder for conversation. As friends, we know how far we can go. But I wonder, am I really hurting their feelings when I say certain things. I have been known, on more than one occasion, to put my foot in mouth. Then someone ends up with hurt feelings and I find myself apologizing for something that I never meant to say in the first place (it’s a Sagittarius trait so at least I come by it honestly and half the time I don’t know that I’ve done it).
I try now to be more cognizant of it when I make fun of people. Especially people I don’t know. I am striving to find the best in everyone. Especially in myself.
I have shocking news for you. Many of you may be surprised by this, but I feel as if I need to let you know. I was a geek. That might even be putting it generously. I wore my hair in a pony tail for all of junior high. I had thick Coke bottle glasses and hideously crooked teeth. I won’t even get started on the acne that blossomed before everyone else’s (or so I thought). I moved to South Florida with my heavy Philadelphia dialect (“wooder” instead of “wah-ter” try that with my last name). I was teased mercifully. By the time I got to eighth grade, I felt that it was acceptable to be spat on. At least it made me feel like I belonged and then I was less than a geek.
Thirty years later (please don’t do that math in your head because I in my mind I’m 22), that junior high girl is gone, sort of. Gone are the crooked teeth (I still have to wear a retainer at night), the ponytail is worn only on really hot or bad hair days, the glasses have been replaced by contact lenses (most of the time). The Philadelphia dialect is slowly being replaced by a Texas urban twang (I can get my Philadelphia on when necessary though). The acne has been transformed to laugh lines.
However, the self conscious girl who was teased and spat on is still deep down inside me. She doesn’t come out often, but when she does, the only person who sees her is the one who reflects her in the mirror. The 13 year old girl in the mirror still wants to be accepted. She still wants to be pretty. She wants to be normal. She wants everyone to like her. She wishes she was thinner, smarter, and had whiter teeth.
We hear so much on the news these days about bullying. The latest story is the grandmother who rode the bus every day and the kids taunted her. She is a woman in her 60’s who was brought to tears by 13 and 14 year olds. Why does this go on?
They say that you hurt the ones you love the most. I know those kids in junior high didn’t love me. I was their entertainment. I doubt seriously that the kids on that bus give Karen Klein a second thought when they’re not on that bus. To them it was just fun.
I am 100% guilty for making fun of my friends. 100%. I do it. They make fun of me too. Usually it is just friendly fodder for conversation. As friends, we know how far we can go. But I wonder, am I really hurting their feelings when I say certain things. I have been known, on more than one occasion, to put my foot in mouth. Then someone ends up with hurt feelings and I find myself apologizing for something that I never meant to say in the first place (it’s a Sagittarius trait so at least I come by it honestly and half the time I don’t know that I’ve done it).
I try now to be more cognizant of it when I make fun of people. Especially people I don’t know. I am striving to find the best in everyone. Especially in myself.
Thursday, July 26, 2012
A Perfect Life
My life is perfect. I may not have everything that I want, but I have everything that I need. I have a family that loves me. I have the best friends that anyone could ever ask for. I don’t
know how I could ever be so lucky. What did I do to deserve all of this?
Sure there are many things that I wish I had that I don’t have and probably never will. Not all of it is material either. I wish I had had a child. It’s probably the biggest disappointment in my
life. It’s the one thing that I always wanted to do, and the one thing that I will never do. Well, more than likely never do. And it’s the one thing that people don’t talk about. Single, childless women – who wanted children – never talk about that disappointment. It’s like a taboo subject. How comforting would it be if we did talk about it to each other? At least then we wouldn’t feel so alone.
I really don’t spend a lot of time thinking about not having had a child. It’s a pointless thing. It’s like being upset because I never got Barbie’s Dream House (I really wanted one, but
had to settle for Barbie’s Townhouse instead). I focus on the kids I do have. My most precious Godchildren who I couldn’t love more if had bore them myself. The 500+ kids I have
taught. I am amazed at what they have become and at what they are doing. It warms my heart to know that I have had a part, however small, in the person they have become.
I just wish society didn’t make it feel so bad to be single and childless. I once had a friend, who is married with children, ask me “If you don’t get married, and have kids, who’s going to take care of you when you get old?” Every once in a while that question rears itself in the back of my mind. Who will take care of me? Am I supposed to call my 80 year old friends to come help me when “I’ve fallen and I can’t get up”?
I don’t advertise my faith a lot. I believe everyone has a right to their beliefs. For that reason, I don’t bring religion into a lot of discussions. For this, I feel I need to. It’s
really the only thing that helps me to accept the life that I have (which is wonderful). I believe that God has given me exactly what I need. I don’t always understand it or like it, but I accept it. This is the life I am supposed to have. Someday I’ll know why . . .
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
The Year of Mary
If you are a Seinfeld fan, you no doubt know about "The Summer of George." George gets fired from the Yankees and decides to enjoy himself all summer and become very active. Of course it's Seinfeld so this doesn't happen. George becomes so lazy that his muscles atrophy and he has to learn how to walk all over again.
Luckily, I have not lost my job, and I'm pretty good at being busy, but sometimes I can get into a rut. I can get grand ideas to try new things only to give up on them before I even start. I worry about stupid stuff that in the long run isn't that important. I'm trying to make everyone around me happy, while I neglect myself. And worst of all, I keep doing the same things over and over again hoping to get a new result. How many of us have done that? Come on, you know you have.
So thus is born, The Year of Mary. I am ready for new adventures. I've got some horseback riding lessons on the docket. I'd like to play tennis again. I need to write more. In my six and half years in Dallas I yet to be in town for the famed St. Patrick's Day Parade. That changes this year. I think I'll be IN the parade (how 'bout them apples?). Oh there are so many things I am going to do this year (sadly Money, Money, Money by Abba is playing as I type and I wonder where am I going to get the money for these adventures).
As I have these new adventures, I will try to update you on them. We'll see what happens. If anyone has anything to suggest for The Year of Mary, please do. I would love to hear your ideas!
Luckily, I have not lost my job, and I'm pretty good at being busy, but sometimes I can get into a rut. I can get grand ideas to try new things only to give up on them before I even start. I worry about stupid stuff that in the long run isn't that important. I'm trying to make everyone around me happy, while I neglect myself. And worst of all, I keep doing the same things over and over again hoping to get a new result. How many of us have done that? Come on, you know you have.
So thus is born, The Year of Mary. I am ready for new adventures. I've got some horseback riding lessons on the docket. I'd like to play tennis again. I need to write more. In my six and half years in Dallas I yet to be in town for the famed St. Patrick's Day Parade. That changes this year. I think I'll be IN the parade (how 'bout them apples?). Oh there are so many things I am going to do this year (sadly Money, Money, Money by Abba is playing as I type and I wonder where am I going to get the money for these adventures).
As I have these new adventures, I will try to update you on them. We'll see what happens. If anyone has anything to suggest for The Year of Mary, please do. I would love to hear your ideas!
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