In The Space Where You Can't See

You ready for this? Because I'm about to drop it...like...it's hot? *insert awkward giggle*

I am no stranger to internet criticisms. Goodness, when you put yourself "out there" on such a public forum it becomes "part of the territory!" A rite of passage, as some may say. I've had everything from my writing style to my parenting techniques to my physical appearance criticized. But today I entered uncharted waters: criticism from women in my religious community. Yowza!

Eyeshadow

I reached for the plastic bar that would separate my groceries from hers, and began to empty my cart onto the black conveyor belt.

Her hair--the color of chestnuts and with dyed, light pink tips--was pulled into a messy ponytail that flicked her shoulder when she turned her head. She had a baby with her--a chubby girl perched in the cart's front basket that was generally reserved for very young children and "delicate items," like bread and eggs. The baby smiled and cooed at Bridget while I reached for the toiletries and stocking stuffers at the very bottom of my cart.

On Cheering For Each Other

Confession: I do not like school carnivals.

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My dislike for school carnivals runs so passionately deep that I've been known to equate attending one to being banished to one of Dante's circles of hell! (Intense, right?) Screaming and yelling and crying kids; over-priced concessions (why does this can of Coke cost three dollars?!); hot, sweaty gyms that smell like farts and popcorn...Not my cup of tea! I usually leave a school carnival with a thumping headache and a twitchy eyelid.

For All The Teachers

This post is sponsored by Our Schools Now in partnership with Forward Influence.

However, all thoughts and opinions are my own.

I knew she was special the moment I met her.

She smiled warmly and introduced herself to me as Ms. Stuart. She was going to be my son’s second grade teacher. When I nervously began to fumble over my words—attempting to explain the challenges that come with Cam’s autism diagnosis—she replied confidently, “It will be okay. He’s going to be great and we can handle this.” Her manner was calm and her voice was kind. My fears quickly subsided.

A Little Bit Shy, A Little Bit Scared

"I'm feeling a little bit shy and a little bit scared."

I looked down at the top of her fair, curly head and watched her as she slid out of the car. Her feet hit the pavement with a slap! I smiled to myself as I watched her shimmy and wiggle to adjust her over-sized backpack on her tiny, little-girl shoulders.

Week In Review--Teacher Training

MONDAY

Smiling faces in a commons room,
where all the teachers have come to stay.
A pep talk, a powerful presentation,
And I think I'll be okay!

--I. Got. This.

TUESDAY

A mountain of information
that makes my brain feel fluffy.
Policies and handbooks
cause me to cry 'til my eyes are puffy.

--O. Ver. Whelmed.

WEDNESDAY

Lots of hugs from staffers,
manning front office desks.
Grateful for their kind support--
Women loving others is the best.

--I. Have. Faith.

THURSDAY

Bright-colored paper for bulletin boards.
Notebooks to hand my class.
A green leafy plant and a felt-ball garland,
to give my room some sass.

--This. Is. Good.

FRIDAY

What a week, to prepare and learn,
a week to stretch and grow.
A new love for a HARD profession,
that does more than you'll ever know.

--Hug. A. Teacher.

CHANGES!

I once had a bishop--the ecclesiastical leader of my church congregation--tell me that change is good.

photo credit: catcherintheryephotography.com

We were preparing to move to the city I now live in, and the thought of leaving my beloved neighbors and friends, the community I had lived in for so many years, was devastating to my heart. I was riddled with anxiety and sadness.

The F Word! (FAILURE!)

A couple of weeks ago I had a religious experience at Sephora. (Truth.)

No, I did not see a heavenly angel next to the Smashbox "Full Exposure" mascara, even though I probably should have. (Because DANG, that stuff is awesome!) And no, I did not discover a holy entrance into heaven--a gate, if you will--by the Urban Decay eyeshadows. (Though I swear there has to be one in that section of the store. I will check on my next visit.)

Problems!

I suppose it's safe to say that there are several unwritten "truths" regarding a looooooooong trip in a car. "Road Trip Truths," if you will!

For example:

Packing the trunk efficiently (for optimal use of space) is a lot like a game of Tetris. Truth.

Ice-cream and chocolate are almost always bad selections when choosing a road trip snack. Truth.

Don't Take Anything Personally

My oldest just finished fifth grade--a fact that sort of breaks this mama's heart.

Photo credit: catcherintheryephotography

I ask, "Where did the time go?," and, "How did we get here so quickly?," fairly often. It's amazing to me that she'll be twelve soon, considering she was only three when I started writing this blog. It was an exercise in creativity inspired by her; my little girl who liked to yell, "Mama Leisha!," from her shopping cart perch.

Respectfully Aggressive

Earlier in the week I had the opportunity to speak to three hundred young girls, between the ages of twelve and seventeen, about the importance of being a light in the world.

After my remarks I was approached by a lovely older woman. She proceeded to tell me that she had worked for the FBI and had traveled around the world for her job. She had worked closely with the military over the years, and had been given opportunities to visit places like Afghanistan and Iraq. She. Was. Fascinating. AND...to top it all off, she had blue hair!

The One In Which I Write a Letter

To my dearest Cam,

Oftentimes I find myself wishing I could know what is going on inside that beautiful, intelligent, complicated, mischievous mind of yours.

How I long for you to tell me about your day; your hopes and dreams, what brings you joy and what makes you happy, what causes your heart to ache. So many questions. And so many answers that I don't have.

Spilled Milk, Martin!

"Hello! Hello!," I screamed into the phone, like a shrill madwoman on the verge of homicide.

"Um...yes, hello," a disembodied male voice said into my ear. He cleared his throat and continued: "As I said, this is Martin. How can I help you?"

"Oh," I said, "you have such a smooth and professional voice, Martin. I thought you were a recording."

Time To Be Still

My Mama Jenneice is very wise.

Her insight runs deep as the Mississippi (Is the Mississippi deep? I should have a fact checker!) and her vast life experiences have shown her many truths. I appreciate the perspective she has gained from being...well...old! (Ha!) She seems to know the right things to say at the right moments to say them. She is like that wise "Mr. Owl," except she knows about a whole heck of a lot more than Tootsie Pops!

Pennies From Heaven!

It happened one July when, instead of frigid temperatures, the air was summertime-hot, and instead of a blanket of snow draping the mountains, they were brown and dry and parched from the sun.

A dear friend of mine had sent me a picture on Facebook. The scene was a department store, with the focus of the picture being a handbag display. Shoulder bags adorned dark mannequins, colorful purses were placed on small crates. And there, in the very center of the display, was a beautiful, gold leather, Kate Spade purse. Shaped like a piñata.

Stop It!

My curly-haired Irish saint (who is also known as Bridget, ha!) has recently favored a new phrase; some snappy vernacular to add to her already "saucy" vocabulary.

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That little turkey will not stop saying, "Stop it!"