Pencils.

If I had to name my top struggle of the week it would be pencils.

I cannot speak for all teachers, but feel quite certain I represent many elementary teachers when I say pencils are one of the biggest annoyances. Ever.

The amount of drama surrounding pencils in any given classroom is draining.
For starters, there are never enough pencils.  Even though I sharpened 20 pencils in the morning before the students arrived, by 9:00 all of them are gone.  The happy pencil pot is now bare and dry. If pots could frown, I think mine would.

Neala, when you start school I will be the gold star mom who brings in pre-sharpened pencils throughout the year. Your teacher will love me and of course you will be their favorite student.

The lack of pencils always shows up at the wrong time.  We are taking a timed math test. My finger is on the timer. Students are ready and excited to see if they can finish before time runs out.   Inevitably someone will yell out, “I need a pencil!”, and run to the pencil pot.  Of course the pot is empty.
Of course.
Because it’s 9:03. And students around the world have an unwritten code to remove all  pencils from the pot on or before 9 a.m.

Even on the rare occasion there are a few remaining pencils in the pot, there’s still trouble.  Because the pencils have clearly been chewed on and no one wants to use them, for fear of getting cooties.  (Cooties is a very real & serious thing in 2nd grade).
Or the erasers are mangled and hanging by a thread. I swear those little squirrels kids are eating them. 

The best is when students break the pencil in half, then throw both pieces in the pot. When I question the class, of course no one did this.  Don’t I know pencils have been known to mysteriously break themselves in half?

This week was book fair at school. My happy little second graders hopped in the room with their envelopes and baggies of money for the book fair.  Only most of them didn’t buy books.
They bought posters of kittens sleeping.
They bought erases shaped like Twizzlers and mushrooms and dollar bills.
And they bought drumstick pencils.

Ugh…

In addition to being completely frustrated with my classroom’s pencil saga, I also wrestled with grief this week.
I know, I know.  It’s quite a jump from pencils to grief. But they have a lot in common if you give it some thought.

Like the pencil drama, grief has also drained me. At a time when I need to feel sharp and together, I feel dull and broken.  Like a worn down pencil, I’m not quite my best.

Unfortunately, grief brought out the worst in me.  I felt and behaved like a chewed up pencil. No one wants to be around a chewed up pencil.

This week I was rude to your father. I was not slow to speak, or slow to anger like the  Bible instructs.  Instead, I rattled off exactly what I was thinking with no filter whatsoever.  Moments later I wished for an eraser to fix my mistake, only to realize my eraser had been chewed off by frustration and anger.

I so badly want to use my grief and brokenness to help others.  Instead, I find myself being short with the people I love the most.  Including you, Neala.
You are only 14 months, so you will not remember this week. But I will.  I will remember my lack of patience and low level of tolerance.

I will remember screaming up at the heavens and telling daddy I wish he were here.  I need him right now to talk with me about all the changes happening in my life.  I will remember asking God through tears why he chose the same year to give and take life from me? Your little brother is coming in 12 weeks and my father won’t be there to hold him.  Every time I think about it, my eyes well with tears and my heart fills with sadness.

You are too little to understand the roller coaster of grief I am on.  But I think you know when mommy is grumpy.  You know when mommy doesn’t feel like playing and just wants to sit on the couch staring mindlessly out the window.

If I were a pencil, I’m pretty sure this week I would appear broken, chewed up, and missing an eraser. The good thing is, I’m not beyond repair.
I can be sharpened. A new eraser can be put on. The dents and scratches won’t go away, but I can still get the job done, right?

Neala, there will be times in your life you will feel loss.  You will feel brokenness.  You will feel as if life has scratched you or tried to chew you up. You may feel dull and worn out. During a moment of anger or frustration you may rip off your eraser.

In those moments, ask God for grace.

The great thing about God is his loving way of sharpening pencils.
The most wonderful thing about God is he specializes in erasers.

School was cancelled four out of the five days this week because of the weather.

Snow days used to make me cringe.  One reason is because roads are usually icy, which makes driving dangerous and scary. Even if I were brave enough to venture out on the roads, the temperature is so ridiculously cold I don’t want to go anywhere for fear my bottom will freeze right off.

The main reason I despise snow days is because on a warm spring day we have to make up the snow day.
Of course every make up snow day is sunny.
And beautiful.
And birds are chirping.
And the kids are crazy.
And in the middle of a math lesson, I scan the room and realize no one is listening.
Not. One. Student.
They are all too busy staring at the squirrel climbing the tree outside our classroom window. As if they have never seen a squirrel until today.

But my feelings about snow days have changed since I had you.  They no longer mean a cold day at home and a make up day in the spring.  This week I was able to steal extra cuddles and read Chicka Chicka Boom Boom 128 times (it’s currently your favorite). We stayed in our jammies all day and danced in the living room.

On Tuesday I watched you stand up on your own.  On Wednesday I watched you take 2 timid steps (unassisted!) to the couch.  Then 4 steps to the ottoman.  On Thursday you walked 8 steps by yourself to me.  Yes, 8 exactly.  I counted them.  Which is pretty amazing considering I was waving my hands like a crazy person and yelling “Yaaaaaay! Big girl! Big girl!  Oh my goodness!”

You also attempted to say “balloon” this week. Which was So.Stinking.Cute.  My jaws hurt from smiling so much!  JoJo had a balloon at her house and you were completely amazed.  Of course your pronunciation was slightly different from mine.  More like “buh-luh”, or “blu-blu”.  But I knew you were trying so my mommy heart AND teacher heart swelled at the same time.

Being able to spend extra time with you this week has been wonderful.  It makes me want to find a part-time job so I can share even more memories with you (and little brother when he arrives).  I’ve wanted to cut my hours since you were born.  But teachers can’t exactly work part-time.

“Sorry kids, you won’t be learning how to add double digits today.  Mrs. Doyle isn’t coming to school until Wednesday.”

I have to decide if I’m going to continue working full-time as a teacher, or if I want to aggressively pursue a part-time job.  Working part-time would mean pausing my teaching career indefinitely.  Staying a teacher would mean pushing through the guilt of leaving you each morning and wondering if I’ll miss a milestone.
It’s like a tug of war inside my heart.  The struggle is real.
(Am I the only one singing “The Best of Both Worlds” by Miley Cyrus right now?!)

Teaching is extremely rewarding.  Watching a child learn to read.  Seeing the lightbulb come on during a math lesson.  Feeling the excitement in the air when I tell the kids it’s time for a Science experiment.  It’s like a drug. Only without the addiction, health risks, and possible prison sentence.

It is also very time-consuming.  When my students leave at 3:15 my work is not finished.  There are papers to grade, parents to call, grades to enter into the system. Not to mention I have to lather myself in hand sanitizer to get all the germs of second grade off me.

Being a mother has created a desire in my heart I NEVER thought would happen.  Stay at home mom stuff was for “the others”.  I never wanted to be part of “the others”.  Then you came along and completely rocked my world.  Like teaching, being a mother is extremely rewarding and time-consuming.  But I like it.  I really, really like it.

Even when you throw half your dinner on the floor.  Along with your bib.
And one sock.
And the bowl.
And the spoon.
And they say you’re not supposed to start a sentence with the word “and”.

So I’m praying and asking God for wisdom and direction.  Who knows what the future will hold?  I could have your little brother and realize teaching is waaay easier than being at home with two littles.  Being outnumbered by small, helpless people is slightly intimidating. Or, I could fall helplessly in love with little man and the desire to be home will increase even more. Thankfully, I have a few months to make a decision.

In the meantime, I’ll enjoy my snow days and your small steps.

Today is February 15.  It’s also known as Valentine’s Day.  No, I’m not mistaken. While I may have “mommy brain”, I am not delusional.  Valentine’s Day is on February 15

At least, in our family it is.

So this morning we will call JoJo to tell her, “Happy Valentine’s!” We might even make a red velvet cake with cream cheese icing. Red velvet was my daddy’s favorite.

I know you’re wondering, why did we do all this on February 15th? Isn’t this holiday on February 14th? Well….technically it is. I mean, the nation as a whole does recognize it on the 14th.

But we don’t.

Years ago, my father began a tradition. He started celebrating Valentine’s Day on the 15th. I cannot recall ever receiving a card or candy on February 14th.  My sisters and I knew when we got home from school on the 15th the kitchen table would be full of cards and heart shaped boxes of chocolate.  Why? Because Valentine’s candy is 50% off on February 15.

Daddy didn’t like to pay full price for anything.
I have a bit of that quality in myself. I’m hoping my children will too.

The cards were almost always handmade. He would cut out hearts and letters to spell our names. He would rip pictures out of magazines and glue them inside. I have one card with random shoes glued inside because he knew I loved shoes.

He loved anything artsy. He was always doodling on a piece of paper, or making something out of scrap pieces in the garage. He was crafty and creative. I’d like to think I have a bit of that quality in myself.  I’m hoping my children will too.

He also liked recycling and repurposing things. He often saw potential in the old, broken, dirty things most people would throw out. In fact, he was known to pick up things off the curb and bring them home. People would sit things out as trash. He saw them as treasure.

JoJo became all too accustomed to PawPaw dragging something old and filthy home and wanting to put it in the house! Fireplace mantles, coat racks, picture frames, tables. The list goes on and on.

In fact, when I was in college he told JoJo he wanted to buy an old, abandoned farmhouse. It was built in 1910, and looked as if it could fall apart at any moment. To say it needed updating is an understatement.

Yet, he saw beauty. He had the vision and skills to transform it into something wonderful. He put in months and months of hard work. He would get off work and head to the farmhouse. New electrical, plumbing, heating and air. New windows, new doors, new walls. He tore down walls and added rooms. He worked hard and well. I’d like to think I have a bit of that quality in myself.  I’m hoping you my children will too.

By doing this, PawPaw taught me how to be a visionary. He could look beyond and see what things could be. The great thing is, he didn’t just do this with things. He did it with people as well. He saw the potential in people and in his gentle, quiet way would encourage them. I’d like to think I have a bit of that quality in myself.  I’m hoping my children will too.

I’m also hoping my children will continue the tradition of buying chocolate on the 15th. You can never have too much chocolate.