black and white spc: seventeen weeks

"everything is exactly as it should be
at this time of your pregnancy,"
my midwife stated yesterday
as she measured
my growing middle
and found my uterus
two fingers under
my bellybutton.

the heartbeat was music to my ears
as i held my breath so i could catch
each miraculous second of the sound.

this week, we are developing fingerprints
and handprints and tiny, sweet feetprints
as the amniotic fluid swirls around
each tiny part.

thrilled.
overwhelmed.
in love.
round.


check out more black and white self-portraits here at the
self portrait challenge site.

scrotum a.k.a.(your non-censored word here)

absolutely ridiculous (read this).

argh.
what other word,
besides "scrotum"
should we use for that
part of the body?
"down there"?
"between the legs"?
"near his you-know-what"?
won't your child want to know
exactly where THERE and WHAT is?

is it so harmful for children
to know the proper names
for body parts?

i guess my nieces will
be in therapy for a long time
as they refer to their vaginas
as *gasp* vaginas!
eek!
what profanity!
how will they ever be normal?

if my new shortie-to-be is
a boy...will i have to think
of ways to avoid telling him
the different names for his
body parts?
nose...ears...arms...legs...um...well...er, i...uh...

i say, buy it!!!!
read it aloud!
request it in your local library
if it is not there.

post-valentines' post

schools closed.
my man had the day off.
the alarm was turned to silent
and we slept until 10.
the world outside glimmering
under it's crust of snow and ice.

i soak in these moments
of pre-baby-ness.
i let the quiet and the warmth
of wraparoundeachother sink in
as we breathe our deep sleep breathing.

after a morning of
heart-shaped banana pancakes
and warm maple syrup,
we watched
like water for chocolate
wrapped in a down comforter.

combination
snow day/valentines' day
is the best, ya'll.

b/w spc: one twig at a time

pair by platform-strappy-high-heel pair
i packed them into their boxes
as i said goodbye until
next year.

we are nesting.
getting ready for
wall smashing
and drywall cutting.

occasionally, i stop to
rub my beautiful, round belly
as i pack away all of
the clothing that my
growing pregnant arse cannot fit into
until after our
sweet angel
is in our arms
and my jogging stroller
is assembled.



check out more black and white portraits here at the
self portrait challenge site.

punctuation

"i am sure that i don't have to
warn you about this...but you know",
i said, cautiously,
after we talked about
the new chapter in her life,
"now that you get your period,
you could get pregnant if
you were intimate with a boy."

i know.
but i am not like that, ms. k."

"i believe you",
i say as i think about all the boys
she talks about with her friends
and the unsupervised afternoons
after school and no parent is
wondering where she is.

plus. if i WERE to get pregnant,
i know he better give me $600 for an abortion."
she says,
hands on her hips,
eyebrows raised in all seriousness.

silence.

not what i was expecting from
the mouth of a ten-year-old.

anywhere, anyone, anything

post read-aloud shortie conversation:

"if i were alive back then,
i would have punched anyone
if they told me i coudn't go
into a restaurant or bathroom."

"i would have gone in anyway."

"you might have been killed!
you would have been scared."

"it was dangerous to fight.
if you did, you would be hurt
real bad."

"people had to be brave.
that is why we have our school today
and we can go anywhere we want."

looking out at my shorties,
after reading a story about the
life of the late, greatest,
courageous martin luther king,
i was glad for their gumption and pluck.
glad knowing that if martin
could hear them
he would know that his fight
was worth every step.
worth every sleepless night.
worth every second spent
summoning courage to face
what was overwhelmingly
wrong.

martin would be as proud
as i am to hear
my shorties say,
"...we can go anywhere we want."

yes, my sweet babies.
you can.
to the moon and back home again.

happy birthday, dr. king.
thank you.

spc: late july

each january
i begin the new year
with promises of ramping up
my excersise routine.
i run harder, faster longer
breathing in the cool winter air.

but this january
cream cheese on crackers,
mango fruit bars
and bubbie's pickles from whole foods,
odwalla protein shakes,
and coldcoldcold grapes
are what i live on now.

yoga pants with the fold down waist
and my softest cotton shirts
are what i live in now.

i have not been running
but sleeping most of the days
of my three-week break
from the shorties.
sleeping and eating
and trying not to hurl.

however,
i have not been a total sloth.
for eleven weeks
i have been working hard.
i have developed
a larynx
a brain
toes
fingers
and one beating heart.

on the first of december
i watched the two lines appear
on the white stick
as i unbelievably cried
and held my belly.

one month plus one day
after my first appointment
with my acupuncturist,
we concieved.

we are due in late july.

hee...



this new year, i will be pampering myself.
i will be preparing and reflecting
on the arrival of my very own shortie.

see more new year's resolutions here at the
self portrait challenge site.

spirit

thank you, andrea, for putting me in the christmas spirit with your words and video link!

getting there

the red and green sugar
has been swept off the floor.
red hots that melted
in a puddle of sugar cookie frosting
have been scraped from the
desktops.

"maria and jose'"
asked for shelter as we
went from one classroom to another,
passing out treats and singing
"o pueblecito de belen"
in little excited voices,
knowing that our posada would end
in the demolition of our carefully packed pinata.

our interview questions for the january webcam meeting
of the second-grade esl students in texas
wait in a pile on my desk for our return:

"do you really put your shoes outside for the three wise men to fill?"
"aren't you afraid someone will steal your shoes?"
"do you celebrate las posadas?"
"where do you sleep?"
"do you celebrate our lady of guadalupe like we read in the books?"

grades have been recorded and
our stained-glass windows have been taken down.

i will spend the next three weeks of this session break
building on the hope that we will learn to take care of each other.
someday.
i will reflect and research and pull on every creative resource i can
to make next session better than any winter session ever.
i will remember how far we have already come
as i see each shortie's face in my dreams.

with much sadness...

i am posting this from an email sent out from my school.
some of you are on that email list and may have already heard this news.
i have not written in the last week as my heart has been full of sadness for my friend.

Dear Friends,

As you may have heard, our kindergarten teacher, Marsha Cozart, lost her three year old son when he was hit by a car in his stroller last Friday afternoon. Her mother, who was with him, was injured. We have all felt overwhelmed by this incredible tragedy and have been looking to help in any way possible. Due to funeral expenses (there was no life insurance policy) and medical expenses (her mother didn't have health insurance), we have established a memorial fund to help the Cozart family meet these financial needs in the midst of their grief. If you wish to make a contribution you can send checks payable to:

New Song Community Learning Center
1530 Presstman St.
Baltimore, MD 21217

Please write Elijah Cozart Memorial Fund in the memo line. Donations will not be tax deductible because they are going to an individual.

gracias

i am thankful for
the love of my life.
my husband rocks.
just when i don't
think i could possibly
love someone more,
i find that i can.

i am grateful for
my family.
i find strength in them.
i am appreciative of their wisdom and love.

i am thankful for
the shorties all.
the tough ones and the
ones that throw their arms
around me each day.
i am humbled and rewarded
by the lessons
they teach me.

i have a (leaky) roof over my head
and food in my belly.
i am warmed by clean flannel sheets,
a purring cat by my toes,
and the spooning of my man each night.

i am breathing deeply
and aware. so very aware.

happy thanksgiving to everyone everywhere.
peace.

voting glam

on this election day
(and deadline for
this week's self portrait challenge)
i am proud of the women
who fought so hard
to earn all women everywhere
the right to vote.

the following is an excerpt that was sent
in an email from one of the strongest women i know:

"The women were innocent and defenseless. And by the end of the night, they were barely alive. Forty prison guards wielding clubs and their warden's blessing went on a rampage against the 33 women wrongly convicted of "obstructing sidewalk traffic."
They beat Lucy Burn, chained her hands to the cell bars above her head and left her hanging for the night, bleeding and gasping for air. They hurled Dora Lewis into a dark cell, smashed her head against an iron bed and knocked her out cold. Her cellmate, Alice Cosu, thought Lewis was dead and suffered a heart attack. Additional affidavits describe the guards grabbing, dragging, beating, choking, slamming, pinching, twisting and kicking the women.
Thus unfolded the Night of Terror on Nov. 15, 1917, when the warden at the Occoquan Workhouse in Virginia ordered his guards to teach a lesson to the suffragists imprisoned there because they dared to picket Woodrow Wilson's White House for the right to vote.
For weeks, the women's only water came from an open pail. Their food--all of it colorless slop--was infested with worms. When one of the leaders, Alice Paul, embarked on a hunger strike, they tied her to a chair, forced a tube down her throat and poured liquid into her until she vomited. She was tortured like this for weeks until word was smuggled out to the press.
So, refresh my memory. Some women won't vote this year because--why, exactly? We have carpool duties? We have to get to work? Our vote doesn't matter? It's raining?"

i voted today.
and as i walked to the polls,
i smiled, knowingly, at each
woman that i passed.
and each woman smiled back.

check out other shots o' glamour here.

happy halloween, ya'll

pumpkin ale.
chocolate.
glitter.
arched-backed kitties.


it's the most wonderful time of the year.

monster mash

today was the last day of our first session.
i made it.
seven weeks of the longestdaysever.
breathe.
35 days of hating the monster i feel i am becoming.
how do i reach these children?

i haven't written much.
i wake up exhausted.
i go to bed exhausted.
i dream of failed lessons
and what coulda'shoulda'woulda' happened
ififif...

i have cried at the end of the day
as i erase all of the
lessons-that-didn't-happen
from our morning message board.
lessons that don't even have a chance
because of behaviors that
leave me with my jaw on the floor,
pulling every trick out of each
file in my spinning head.
i miss my old shorties...

i have wanted to scream
at the TOP OF MY LUNGS
at the child who
consistentlyconsistentlyconsistently
keeps me from teaching.
eyelids turned inside out,
whistling without a care,
he ignores my attempt at
redirecting his powers towards
good and not evil.

i have made it.
time to regroup.
it will get better.
i know they can do it.

after i rest and sort my head
i will reflect and write more.

honkSQUEAK

jamie read the title of
the story she was about to read to my shorties
from her book of scary tales.

"listen to the way ms. jamie
uses her voice. she makes her
voice sound very scary.
she is really great at it!"

jamie asked me if i believe in ghosts.

i answered, "yes."

she told us all about the ghosts
that frequent her aunt's house
that is next to a graveyard.

hands shot up into the air
as the shorties made connections
to their own life experiences.

my shortie-of-sweetness
shared the following:
"one day, when i was home alone
in my room, i heard a very strange noise.
it went, "honkSQUEAK, honkSQUEAK, honkSQUEAK!!!'
(note: "squeak" was said a little louder and at a higher pitch than the "honk")

we asked what happened next.

"well. i was scared cuz it sounded just like
my bed does when i jump on it...but i wasn't
moving! and then i heard it again!
honkSQUEAK, honkSQUEAK, honkSQUEAK!
it was really loud!"

at this point, i put my head down on my desk
to hide the fact that i had tears rolling down my face
from laughing so hard.

he kept saying, "honkSQUEAK, honkSQUEAK, honkSQUEAK!"

jamie leaned over and quietly whispered to me,
"i don't think he was alone."

as i ran out of the room so that i could laugh openly,
i heard my shortie-of-sweetness respond to the
questions of what-he-did-next.
"i ran into the living room and turned the t.v. on
and it finally stopped."

honkSQUEAK, honkSQUEAK, honkSQUEAK!

hee.
out of the mouths of babes.

kifli

living behind the school,
hiding from the rain in muddy rat-tunnels,
and being hungry are behind her now.
meet kifli.
weighing in at 1.3 pounds.

we bathed her
with lavender shampoo
and warm water.
she didn't move an inch as
the flea dirt and mud washed out
of her fur and swirled down the drain

she is stretched out,
licking her paws;
cozy and nestled
in her down-filled blanket.

life is good, little one.
may you have sweet dreams
and be happy.

free hugs

saw this today.
wouldn't it be nice if
we could all be this open
to others?

just do it

"you need to have clarity," she said,
"you need to be open and ready to accept
the child's soul that is meant to come to you."

i had my first acupuncture session today.
sitting there,i relived past moments and events
that i usually hold onto dearly while
locking the closet door.
i was crying within the first five minutes.

"how do you feel about being 40
and trying to have a child?"
tears.
unstoppable.
wanting to pull it together.
but i couldn't.

"you need to decide what you
are willing to do to make this happen"

what am i willing to endure?
am i willing to endure the pain and loss of multiple pregnancies?
am i willing to endure the heartbreak of a
birth mother changing her mind after
we have fallen in love with her child?
if i want it. then i can be that strong, right?

clarity.
(breathe)
clear mind.
(breathe)
clear goals.
(breathe)
soul open to accept what is my destiny.

back-to-school night

"my son said he loves you."

really? i feel like i have been so mean!

"he says he understands now why,
last year,
everyone was crying on the last
day of school."

wow...did everyone know
about that?
really? he said that?

we hung our haikus today so that
the sun filtered brightly through
the orange, yellow and green
leaf-shaped paper.
we spread our notebooks
across our desks so
that our parents could
leaf through and see
all of the good thinking
and imagination that flows
across each page.

tonight, each parent sat at their child's desk
looking at me with the same-but-older faces
i see everyday.
full of hope for the new year.
full of love and adoration
for their babies...their hearts.

this week is better.
we will be fine.
each day brings a new understanding.
them of me.
me of them.

the honeymoon is over

each time i see one of my old shorties
i want to scoop them up and tell them
how much i miss them.
(sometimes i do.)

i am at a loss.
my new shorties are testing me
in every way they can.
i have become ms. kath-a-mean.
fer real.
fer serious, ya'll.

the not careingaboutdoinghomework,
and inyourface disrespect
and flat-out meanness towards one another
is just killing me.

to keep them safe and peaceful,
i have had to separate the groups of desks
into neat rows, individually facing front.
how lame.
that is not me.
that goes against every teaching grain
in my want-to-encourage-them being.

but to be a peaceful community, they need to work together.
to work together, they need to be kind to each other.
and the element-of-kind is what they are struggling with.

and even more lame:
i KNOW that childrens' behavior comes from their environment.
and i am enforcing negativity by seperating them.

i am exhausted.
i KNOW that we will get there.
but today, i feel like i have been beaten.
today, i experienced the worst behavior from my shorties
than any others i have taught. ever.

and it is not acceptable.
i am raising the bar even higher.

may all the forces be with me.


i'm goin' in.

spc: matching voices with faces

creative mama from seattle.
married to jon.
mother of jaylie, jayden and journey.

joy and i met about a year ago.
we have commented on each other's photographs,
read one another's blogs
and emailed about teaching philosophy.
she and her husband are crazytalented picture-takers.
they are amazing parents to three of the
most beautiful children i have ever seen.
aaaand i got to meet them for the first time,
in person,
last night!
(thank you mr. and mrs. madison
for including me in your baltimore itinerary!)


check out more people with people here.

the curtain rises

today we became a popcorn popper
filled with kernels.

my shorties popped and sizzled
and hopped and "ouched" as they
imagined their journey to the
bowl where they'd be buttered and salted.

"being a kernel and
getting so hot that you're
gonna burst is like when i
get soooooo mad and stomp my feet
and i just scream as loud as i can"

agreement.

"it is like when a volcano explodes"

"yeah! and the butter is like the lava!"

oooooh yeah.
we are going places.

spc: kathi and ellen

my mom.
my aunt.
me.

i can tell them anything.
and,
even at my age,
if i step out of line,
they will put me right
back in my place.

they have my back.
full of love and strenth,
my mentors
are two of the most
amazing women i know.



check out other
peeps muggin' with their peeps here.

ingredients

i get the list of my new shorties
tomorrow.
i will organize my art supplies
tomorrow.
i will hang my peace flags and
string up my littlewhitelights
tomorrow.
all of the teachers will come together
tomorrow
and reflect and plan and eat and chat.
tomorrow
is a new beginning.
my mailbox, stuffed with scholastic catalogs
will be waiting for me along with
my empty bulletin boards and
special drawer stuffed with all of the old notes
from the shorties i have loved.

tomorrow
i will visualize
our desks full
of books and dreams
of how high we can actually
go
together
as a
new
family.

spc: these feet were made fer walkin'

this month's self-portrait challenge is about enclosed spaces.
(marigoldie, click here.)

aging is like being in a small space.

i keep saying "i am forty"
to make it real.
cuz i feel like i am
way behind in maturity
in comparison to where
i am "supposed to be".

so...i sat, looking at my dirty, dusty feet
while at the philly folk festival.
and thought of all the places
they have taken me over the years.
taking my first steps.
pedaling my first two-wheeler.
walking to my first day of kindergarten
and home with my brother.
countless teen dances where i
kissed a boy for the first time.
wearing character shoes for all
of the plays and shows i performed in.
years of working in retail, standing for hours.
bar-hopping in my twenties.
sailing for the first time
(and almost barfing) to catalina
with my big brother.
waiting tables to get through school.
walking everywhere for the five years that i didn't own a car.
running. running. running.
jumping rope with the shorties.
walking down the aisle at my wedding to
marry the most wonderful-man-in-the-world.
standing all day in a classroom.
camping and hiking
and biking and photographing
and marching and skipping
and twirling
and
and
and...

these feet are going to take me through the next half of my life.
and that half is going to rock even more than the first.

crossing over

this is the last post
of my thirties.

paul and i are leaving
after i publish this
to go camping until
sunday.
the day i turn four-oh.

we will be at the
philly folk festival
listening to amazing
music 24 hours a day,
on-stage and in
the campground.

i will return
older
wiser
and maybe a
little hung-over...

until then, my peeps.
until then.

hee...

self-portrait challenge: stairs

i hate stairwells.
not because i'm lazy.
because i fear them.

when i am going up a flight,
i always feel like someone/thing
is behind me
chasing me
out to get me
and pull me downdowndown
into some bottomless black hole.
or
on open stairs,
i feel like someone
is under them and
will reach out and grab my foot
and i will pass out from fear
and wake up in a dungeon somewhere.

i have always had this fear.

when i was little, i would stand
at the top of our stairs in the
middle of the night,
on my way to the bathroom.
i would be
paralyzed with the knowing
that some snarling, hairy monster
was going to run up and
grab me and carry me into
the darkness and gobble me up.
seriously, i would stand there,
motionless. not wanting
to give myself away.
it would take all of my courage to run
to the bathroom door and pass the
top step of the hollow blackness
that went to the first floor of our house.

and i still shake a bit when i have
to come up the basement steps after
throwing a load of laundry in.
always looking behind me
over my shoulder
just to make sure.


this month's challenge is: small spaces.
find more self portraits here.

end-of-the-week thankfulness

i flew into charm city yesterday.
back to the land of old bay seasoning
and the town where everyone calls you "hon".

i am home.

i am thankful for so much.
i have just spent the last three weeks roadtrippin'
across very beautiful parts of our country.

i am grateful for the adventurous
memories made on the drive
through appalachian country with my
sweet friend, shelley/thelma,
who now lives in houston.

i am fortunate to have visited with family
and, together, inhale yummy memphis barbecue,
crazygood texas tamales and local beer.

i am thankful to have filled my lungs
with the clean desert arizona air
and to have seen the saguaros of tucson.
i am grateful to have feasted on the best fish tacos and posole
i have ever had with
my dear friend, keno.

today, i attended the baptism of our
neighbor's triplets on this glorious morning.
i walked the whole way to the church
with my other neighbor, carol.
it was 75 degrees and breezy.

paul and i grooved out on the best
tomato sandwiches for dinner.
(hooray for summer tomatoes!)
ciabatta bread rubbed with garlic
and layered with yellow and red slices.

i will sleep in my own bed
next to my cutie-pahtootie
and our toe-biting cat.

tomorrow, i begin the last week of my thirties, ya'll.
seven days until i am the big four-oh.
(but that is a whole 'nother entry.)

peace out.

spc: roadtrippin' on highway 10

the self portrait challenge
this month is: small spaces
so i thought it appropriate
to write about my
current roadtrip and being
trapped in a car for what seemed like
forever.

my dear friend, keno
and i left houston on sunday afternoon.
we gassed up trigger,
our trusty steed,
and headed west on highway 10.

armoured with
ample snackage
(two thermoses filled with
strong coffee, scones, cookies,
hot cheetos, salt and pepper chips,
bananas, breakfast burritos, popcorn,
pellegrino, spring water, and diet dr. pepper),
we began our 16 hour, 1065 mile voyage.

somewhere after san antonio
we switched seats.
"if you see a critter," advised keno,
"and you can't swerve to miss it,
then just hit it."

what?

"you know...just don't flip us.
don't freak out and go off the road,"
he explained.
"it is better to dent trigger then to be
upside down, skidding across the empty
desert highway..."

i nodded in agreement.
my eyes peeled, i sped down the road.
not even one mile into my navigation,
i spotted a deer carcass.
(much more than a dear-smear).
i screamed, and held onto the wheel tightly
as i realized i was going to have to straddle the
bloody mess with the tires.

"good job! you handled that well!"
encouraged my nervous friend.

my heart was racing and we were still
in one piece. whew...
i sped ahead.

"what the hell is THAT?!"
i could only switch to the lane that
the big, grey, needley-furred looking beast
was facing.
"please don't run in front of me..." i pleaded.
my stomache flipping, i stared at the critter
that stood on the yellow line.
i drove right by its nose.
"i think...i think...now i know this sounds crazy...
but i think that was a wild boar!" i stated.

then we started laughing.
hard.

laughing nervously.
laughing at the surrealness of it all.
laughing with relief that we didn't smear it across the highway.

bunnies. hundreds of bunnies.
whole gangs of 'em
watched us from the roadside
as we sped across texas.
into new mexico.
and, finally into arizona.

the sun came up as we deliriously
drove into tucson.
past the yucca trees and cactus.
sleep deprived, we arrived at our hotel
and parked trigger.
finally, we were free to roam
about with our own two feet.

i am in the land of cactus, ya'll.
a whole 'nother world from baltimore.
i'll keep my eyes peeled for rattlesnakes
and keep ya'll posted.

deep in the heart

i am officially, once again,
a teacher on vacation.

i left two tuesdays ago
to drive the miles between
baltimore and houston.
my good friend, shelley,
will be teaching in texas now
and i volunteered
to take the road trip with her.
(and her dog and cat and fish!).
we stopped in memphis for some
delicious barbeque and
hugs from relatives.
arriving in houston,
her parents welcomed us with
smiles and margaritas (yum!).
another cousin and her lovely family
treated us to mexican food
(and more margaritas!) and
stories from all years that have passed since
we last spoke.

i drove to euless and reunited with
my aunt and uncle and cousins,
and ate more mexican food
(and beer!).

today i leave the lone-star state;
the big, rambling state where
most of my dad's family lives.

i was here eighteen years ago
when he died.
i came for the funeral and
once again the summer after that.
i hadn't been back since.

life went on.
i lost touch living my northeast existence.

over the last week,
i have connected with cousins and aunts and uncles
who have opened their homes
and arms wide to me.

i have discussed the history
of my ancestors and have
attempted to catch up
on all the happenings of
our clan.

so interesting to see the
faces that look like mine
and click with the personalities
and characteristics that are from
the same recipe that i am made, too.

it has been a wonderfully full week.
i am exhausted from all the goodness.
reflectively sorry that i let so much time go by.

so goodbye to the state
where the stars shine bright(ly)
late at night.

mmm hmmm...you know the song.

i will write more when i get to arizona.
yippe-i-kay-oh! ridin' west we go!

close to heaven

"fourth grade," said our principal
in this morning's graduation ceremony,
"please stand and take your seats
in the fifth grade row! Congratulations
to our new fifth graders!"

my shorties stared at me.

i looked back, trying to smile convincingly.
trying to make them believe that
not only was i happy that they had made it
to the fifth grade,
but that it was okay that they were
moving on.

donotcrydonotcrydonotcry.

tears streaming down
their faces, they stood and
walked back to the chairs in the next row.
i had to hug the baby-bunny-shortie
and hold her hand while i escorted
her to her new status in our school.

fifth graders.

no longer my shorties.
no longer my chickens.

my heart was breaking as i took
my new position with the future
third grade class.
i looked at the tiny, fresh-outta-second-grade babies
that i will be calling mine for the next two years.
"yikes," i thought.

one of my new shorties put her head on my shoulder
and squeezed my arm.
"you're our new teacher!" she smiled.
i looked back and caught the eye of my
baby-bunny shortie and,
seeing me as a traitor,
she burst into fresh tears.

i wanted to shrug off my new shortie.
i wanted to say, "no! no! she hugged me!
i don't want this! i am being forced!"

i looked back and saw baby brown
with his head in his hands.
"come here," i whispered.
he came and slumped next to me.
"i will always have your back.
i am never leaving you, do you
understand?"
my heart broke with the understanding
that because of his life's losses,
i would have to prove it for him
to actually believe it.

later, after all the speeches and awards,
we went up to our room one last time.
we sat on the rug in a circle.
i looked around at each face
that i have grown to
love like my very own children.
each face that i have
held and encouraged and wiped dry and adored
for two years.
"i am so pr...." and then i lost it.
i cried.
and they cried.

"you are the ones who will make the difference.
i am counting on each of you to make the change
that you have promised me that you will make."
i lectured through my tears.
"you are to take care of each other and do
the right thing no matter what, do you understand?"
they nodded.
"don't let me down."

i gave each of them a tiny inch-tall angel
that i brought back from new mexico.
"the land of enchantment," i explained,
"is high up in the mountains, close to heaven.
keep this angel with you to remind you that
i love you and will always have your back.
keep this angel to help you remember
each other and the lessons we have all
learned together."

we had one last morning circle.
hugged each other tightly,
and said goodbye.

i stood in my empty room
and let it all sink in.
they are gone.

my heart is so full with pride at how far they've come.
my mind is racing with anticipation of my next adventure.

i am blessed.
i am the luckiest person i know.

exhale

it is the end.
the end of my mothering
to this group of shorties.
three more days and
we will have our
last morning meeting.
our last group hug.
it will be the last chance
we have to walk to
mr. benny's for snowballs
and laugh at our colored tongues.

this week is crazy.
but in a good way.
spinning out of control
i want the merry-go-round
to stop so i can catch my breath
and say,"that was fun! let's do it again!"

end of the week thankfulness...

we are home.
we didn't lose anybody
except for one hermit crab
who is probably thanking
it's lucky stars
that it escaped
the fate of becoming
an urban crab.

i can barely complete
whole sentences.
so i will write more
later.

my favorite question of the week:
"ms. k., if my hermit crab dies, can i eat it?"

we made it.

one week outside
of the city.
one week of sand-filled-everything.

we finally made it.

the shorties faces were
priceless today as they
tore down the wooden planks
towards the ocean.

they shrieked and splashed
around for hours.

"how did the sand get here?"
"is there cement under it?"

they caught sandcrabs
and let them wiggle around
in their small hands
before setting them free
into the sand that
has become our retreat
for the next five days.

i am exhausted.
but my heart is full
as i write this.
i love my shorties so much
that i just may burst.

click here to see all of the pictures
as i upload them through the trip.

spc: me as a children's drawing and bon voyage

one of my shorties ran
up to me this morning
and thrust this poem
and drawing into my hand
before she threw her arms
around my waist, burying
her smile into
my stomache:

My loving teacher.
She is my favorite teacher

Keeps me in her heart
Always forgiving.
Talks to me.
Hugs me when I am sad.
Laughs with me.
Extra, extra, extra nice.
Eats my pain away.
Never tells me to give up.

the poem came with
this drawing

since i will be gone for a week
and am not sure of
internet availability,
i am using this drawing for
next week's
self portrait challenge.
it is "me as a child's drawing".

we leave for the beach tomorrow morning.
i have 15 pb&j sandwiches to make
and 12 boxes of cereal to pack.
i have a huge box full of tricks for the car.
i have my camera (oh yeah...)
and my sanity.
for now.
hee...

yup.
i am blessed.
the luckiest.
now, excuse me
while i go
prepare for my
last hurrah with
these shorties.

p.s. thank you to all who have encouraged
us and have helped us with our trip!
i am overwhelmed with gratitude.