My daughter turned 20 today. It’s a bit unbelievable to me. It seems like just days ago that she was born. A miracle baby, born at 28 weeks. Three months early and weighing only 2 pounds. It was a shock, her birth. There was nothing that prepared me for it or gave me a clue. But there she was, laying in an incubator 20 years ago, not quite fully grown. It was a hard two and a half months that she was in the hospital, waiting to get to five pounds so we could take her home. I went every day to read to her from Babar books, talking to her and watching the numbers on her monitor jump around. I wanted so much to hold her immediately and be her mom, but it was a week after she was born that I got to hold her for just a few minutes on Mother’s Day. Then I had to wait and be a spectator for a while. It was a beautiful, painful, maturing experience watching her grow outside of me. And we were all so incredibly lucky. Babies born that early oftentimes have lingering issues of some sort. The most my daughter had was glasses when she was younger, since the eyes are one of the last things to form in utero. And today she is a beautiful, intelligent, giving and talented person. Someone I am so blessed to have in my life and call my daughter. You would never know that she was born premature and had to fight so hard just to be alive. I’m immensely thankful today for her and for the way her birth changed me and made me a stronger mother.
May 2
Today was a busy day. But it was good. We had hundreds of high school students on campus, and I was able to speak to several groups of them about how to study better. It was a little bit amusing, a little bit frustrating, and a whole lot of making me feel old. The groups I spoke to were all freshman. As I outlined how to take notes during class and techniques for test taking and study planning, I noticed how difficult it was for them to sit still and really pay attention. I kidded some of them about how teachers can actually see to the back of the room. Being 30 feet away isn’t considered hiding. And when you hit the kid next to you, it’s not a secret. (This did, in fact, happen.) Overall, though, they were good kids, and it was very obvious that they were just kids. And that’s when my mothering instincts kicked in. When I looked at all their young faces, I could see the potential in front of me, and I couldn’t help but wonder how many of them saw it in themselves. I wondered if they’d persist in school or get lured out of education by the promise of early dead-end jobs. The graduation rate in our district is low. I wondered how many of them would apply any of the tips I gave them during their high school years. I tried to stress the importance of figuring out how to be a student now, so that the upcoming years would be easier. I hope they heard me. I hope at least a few of them want to figure that out. When I look at kids that age, I wish there was a way to impart the knowledge that only maturity can give. And that’s when I feel old because I want to say to them, you’ll understand one day how important this is. And then you’ll wish you had listened better. But they may have. I hope so. After all, I’m thankful I’m in education where even during the difficult days, there’s the potential to help someone’s future.
May 1
It’s May Day and I didn’t dance around a maypole, or sing, or put cute little flower baskets or treats on my neighbors’ doorsteps. I feel a little disappointed by that. I like holidays of all sorts and usually try to at least acknowledge them. I think I’ll put that on my agenda for next year; it will give me a greater incentive to meet more neighbors and learn their their names. Right now I feel like I only know them by face at a distance, enough to wave and say hello. Of course, without seeing them bundled up in winter coats and hats, I may not recognize anyone anymore.
At any rate, it struck me earlier today that some of these typical, fun holiday things are slipping past because I’m not as together as I usually am. I’m a list maker and like to finish tasks and be done with them, but I’ve gotten a bit disorganized and off-track, and it’s time to pull it together. For that reason, I’m thankful the semester is almost over at work. My night class meets for one more week, and then I will be back to having free time in the evenings. I will miss my students, and I will miss teaching over the summer because I really do enjoy it. Class interaction with students is a special kind of joy for me. However, it will feel great to get some unfinished projects done both at work and at home. Soon I will have a few weeks break from my normal routine that will allow me to focus on organization and planning for the upcoming semesters. I’m actually excited about it. Is this what sports players refer to as getting your head in the game?
April 30: Erudition
Since it’s the last day of April, I’m going to close national poetry month with this. I’m always thankful for lessons learned.
it’s late afternoon already
and still you haven’t come
from my window I’ve been watching
children casting lines into the river
consistently losing their bait with the
eagerness of reeling in nothing
interesting how early we can learn
life’s great truths
yet they do not realized this is homework
and so continue on
while I keep my vigil
the clouds fall into the water and a grayishness
settles over the once idyllic scene
the fog is coming in
on something heavier than little cat feet
I can hear its pouncing steps echo
in the distance
there will be a storm tonight
moonlight would cast a rosier glow
over the swirling water than
the sun’s weak attempts right now
the wind blows the lines back
and forth and I wait expectantly
for the children to run home
but they continue to cast and reel
cast and reel
hoping to get even one small bite
and I wonder why they can’t see
it’s pointless now the fish are gone
and then I do
I’ve done my homework
I’m not one of them
I’m leaving
April 29
My mom finally got a smartphone. It’s amusing to me because she fights technology. She doesn’t know how to use her computer and sees no use for wireless internet at her home. (Which drives those of us visiting crazy.) However, when she needed to change phone plans after my dad died, my sister talked her into upgrading her phone–to an iPhone. And it’s taken her less than a week to text like a pro. Tonight I called her in response to a text she sent today, knowing that my answer would be too cumbersome to type out on my phone. After I explained that to her, she replied Yes, I’m finding it sometimes easier to call than text. As if she’s been texting for ages. It made me smile. Partly because it’s funny how quickly she’s adapted to the technology that just a month ago she would have denied needing or wanting or being able to understand. But mostly, I’m proud of my mom for branching out in even this small way. There’s a sort of independence I see in the fact that she’s embracing the new. I think that’s important now that my dad is gone. We talked a little tonight about how she’s struggling with the moments she’s too keenly aware of his absence. How she’s trying to stay busy. It’s not an easy task to learn to be alone after living with someone for 40 years. Not only does she need to navigate the practical aspects of that (she wishes she had paid attention to how to run the lawn mower, but she thought she’d have more time to learn) but she also needs to figure out how to maneuver through the loneliness. I’m grateful for the fact that she’s not shrinking from the independence that’s been thrust upon her, but rising to the challenge. She’ll make it. I know that. It’s these baby steps that are helping. Well, that and the fact that she’s a strong, intelligent woman. More so than she sometimes gives herself credit.
April 28
I am thankful today that my students have a sense of humor. While I was out sick most of the work day, I did feel a bit better by late this afternoon, so I taught my class tonight. Immediately when I walked in, they asked what was wrong with me. Even though I tried to hide it, my allergy eyes gave me away. The nurse at the immediate care clinic yesterday described it accurately. She looked at me in shock and said, oh honey! That must hurt. You look like you’ve been burned. Yes. I look like someone tried to burn a raccoon mask around my eyes. And now my students have seen me at my worst and had great fun teasing me about how miserable I looked. But that’s ok; I’m the one giving out grades in a couple of weeks…
April 27
Sometimes I ask my kids what they think I should write about, just to get an idea of the types of things they would be grateful for during the day. Sometimes their suggestions are pretty obvious attempts at coercion (you love me enough to buy me the sweatshirt I want/you’re thankful you can bring me to the mall tomorrow). Tonight my oldest said, you got to make dinner. At first I thought she was being flippant, but she wasn’t. It dawned on me that because of our busy schedules, tonight was the only time this week the three of us had sat down to dinner together. It doesn’t always happen that way, but I’m afraid this is probably becoming the norm for us. Thankfully, tonight I ignored the first suggestion of frozen pizza and instead made a chicken marsala which we put over cornbread waffles (made in my Mickey Mouse waffle iron) and added a side of steamed green beans. It was actually pretty good. I am grateful we were able to eat together tonight. It was a nice end to the week.
April 26
My morning was interesting. I had a terrible night’s sleep (again) and woke up feeling just as lousy as I did when I went to bed. Sore throat. Chest cough. Only this morning I got the added bonus of an allergic reaction to something at some point during the night. My eyes were almost swollen shut. At least the left one. Itchy, red, swollen. I actually sat in bed and cried for two minutes, which only made it worse. So, I got up, put cold water on my face, took my allergy pill–which, by the way, I have been doing daily for the last several months–and stood in a hot shower for a while. It only helped a little. It’s so frustrating because I have no idea what triggered the allergy. I haven’t changed my detergent, my pillows, or anything else on my bed. I had also just washed everything a few days prior. All I can think is that I must have my body worn down to the point where I’m overly sensitive to something. Maybe it’s my down pillows.
However, my tears this morning were mostly triggered by the fact that I had planned to go with my daughter to a college visit and at that point, I could literally see my own eye out of the corner of my eye. That’s how puffy they were. I didn’t want to drive that way. I also hated the idea of meeting people while looking like I had been in a fight. But I sucked it up. A couple of ice cubes helped a little with the swelling and a liberal dose of makeup camouflaged the redness a bit. And my daughter decided to drive, which was good and bad. Her car is so much smaller than mine. As we backed out of the driveway, I swear I looked eye to eye with a robin sitting in the yard.
At any rate, I’m thankful I was able to go. We had a great time chatting on the way there. And the college presentation was extremely interesting. She’s checking out SCAD (Savannah College of Arts and Design). It’s a school totally devoted to the arts, and she wants to go into animation. It could be a good fit for her; she’s very artistic. Actually, by the end of the presentation, the dormant artist in me was ready to sign up as well. And later, on the way home, we stopped and did a little shopping. I’m glad I didn’t let my morning dictate my day. It was a good day, puffy eyes, sore throat and all.
April 25
It’s one of those days, my friends. Even though I was able to nap earlier, I’m worn out. And still battling whatever cold bug I have going on. I’m simply thankful the day is over.
April 24
I heard a quote today that stuck with me. A wise man is not cowed by knowledge. I wasn’t sure why it stood out for me, but I even wrote it down. And of course, I’ve been thinking about it. Usually stuff like that hits me because it seems pertinent to whatever I have going on, either literally or within. And there is so much I have going on right now. On all fronts. It’s exhausting at a pretty basic level. But that’s life sometimes. It would be great if we could take our lifetime share of ups and downs and place them on our timeline at a nice, manageable pace. Yet I’m sure we all know that’s not how things typically work. We’re hit with a few blows at once and have to stagger along for a while before we get ourselves back together.
Now I’ve never been the type who could sit still for long. I once tried yoga but after a few classes, I dropped out. Not because I couldn’t handle the stretching or the not always lovely views, but because at the end of every class, we were told to lay quietly on our mats without moving or opening our eyes. I couldn’t do it. I literally felt like I was crawling out of my skin at that point. I never went back and haven’t tried it since. I have friends who swear to me that after getting the hang of it, yoga is not only good for the body, but good for the mind. Ok. Maybe at some point I’ll give it another go. In the meantime, I’ve been reading a lot about learning how to be mindful. And present in the moment. Also difficult for me because I’m a worrier, but somehow, I understand it. I think I’ll get there.
So how does this relate to my quote? Well, I guess I’ve known that I’m a knowledge seeker. I loved school because I loved learning. I like figuring stuff out. I like reading mysteries and fitting seemingly pointless pieces of information together. I especially like trying to figure out people. The process doesn’t intimidate me. But sometimes what I learn does. Sometimes I fear finding out what I don’t want to know. Because that may mean I’ll have to change my thinking on a subject, or apologize for being wrong, or make a hard decision. But I’ll always seek to know because I don’t understand the opposite. Some people are too afraid to even seek knowledge. They don’t even try. They don’t strive to understand themselves or others or the events that happen because ignorance really is bliss. You can’t fear/accept/change what you don’t know. And so they don’t grow and their lives don’t really expand. Maybe I sound like I’m judging, but I’m really not trying to. It’s just that early on in my life I knew I’d be the type of person who would rather feel pain than to feel nothing. And to me, learning means growth and sometimes growth is painful.
Now, what is new to me is that, just like my struggle with yoga, I struggle with not doing. Not reacting. Gaining knowledge and feeling like I need to do something with it immediately. And hearing that quote today reminds me that sometimes it’s important to simply sit and let the new information sink in. A knee-jerk reaction isn’t always necessary, just as fear isn’t. Sometimes being wise means knowing and letting it be.
melissagratitude 