The worth of a teacher!

A hundred years from now it will not matter what my bank account was, the sort of house I lived in, or the kind of car I drove.  But, the world may be different, because I was important in the life of a child.

-Forest Witcraft

My kids have the most amazing school teachers on the planet.  I don’t know how I got so lucky.  I am astounded by the love these people show my children.  Mind you, love is not in their job description.  They are not required to like children, or to take a vested interest in them as people.  Yet, they still do. 

Cooper isn’t my best student.  He does fine, but let’s just say he doesn’t love the idea of being at school, behind a desk all day.  His idea of a nice vacation does not include books.  He is a mover and a shaker.  You will always find him in the middle of whatever is going on.  He will befriend anybody that will have him.  School hasn’t always been his idea of fun. .  He is a lot like me.  Yesterday is old news, and tomorrow is a day away.  For good or for bad, he lives in the moment. He always has.

  

Luckily, he has had some really good teachers that have helped him in his journey.  He looks forward to class.  He is in fourth grade.  If his teacher was on Facebook, I would publicly lavish her with praise.  I can’t express how much it means to me that she loves my son. And make no mistake, she does love him.  How crazy is that? She isn’t just his teacher. He is not just a student to her.  He is her friend.  And as a mother, she will never know what that means to me because she gives him things I cannot.   Like, confidence. 

She made him a special folder.  He is a big BYU fan (thanks to his cousin, Sage) and much to his family’s dismay.  But, that’s Cooper.  He doesn’t have a care in the world what the rest of us do.  If it isn’t for him, he doesn’t do it.  He is simply happy with himself and his choices.  It is a quality I wish all my children possessed.  She made him this folder today.  Yes, it is simple.  It is not a grand investment, and I assume it didn’t take hours to complete.   That said, it was a gift I will never forget.  It was a deliberate effort on her part to do something she did not have to do for a 9 year old boy because she cared.  She has clearly taken the time to learn he loves BYU.  I am certain she did so outside of school hours.  Surely, she was not paid for her time, and something never expected of her.  Yet, here it is. 

Cooper has carried that folder with him all night long.  He hasn’t let it out of his sight.  I have heard him tell no less than seven people tonight that his teacher made this folder just for him.  Not everybody. Nope. Just for him.  He took clear packing tape and covered it so it would be “laminated” and protected from any harm.  To see him so genuinely happy over something somebody else did for him is humbling, to say the least.  You see, as his mother, I could have made him that folder and it would not have had nearly the impact on him.  Moms have to do those things.  It is kind of a given, a mom requirement.  Not  teachers.  Believe me, he knew the difference.    It did not go unnoticed.  He knew somebody thought he was special.  When somebody takes an interest in us that doesn’t have to—it matters.  It mattered to a 9 year old boy. 

There simply are not words to convey the appreciation I have for those teachers, and others that give to my children what I cannot.   Thank you. Thank you for all that you have done, and all you will continue to do for them. 

I am so fortunate. My children are so blessed.  And,  I am one grateful mother.

Twins: Double the love – half the sleep!

There are two things in life for which

we are never truly prepared...

p twins!! 

 The first year is a blur. 
Take photos. 

December 21, 2006 --- 29 weeks, 5 days

Apparently, they felt the world needed a little extra for Christmas that year! 

Emersyn

9:35 AM

3 lbs.

16 inches long

Eden

9:36 AM

2 lbs. 14 ozs.

14. 5 inches long

I don't have many memories from the first few years after the girls were born, but I am glad I took photos. At least they will have something because if they want stories--I've got nothing. 2007-2009 is a blur. It is suddenly seven years later, and I am just now getting around to these pictures. Many I saw for the first time tonight. It was so fun to see them. I had forgotten so much. The girls loved their pictures. I am so glad I found them. 

Those first few years, I barely survived. 

I dare say months, or perhaps even years, but guess what? I did. And from the pictures, I think I may have even smiled along the way.  I didn't find one flattering picture of myself in two years.  But, it was a few years that weren't about me and the pictures tell a story.  My children will know those days were exhausting.  The pictures do not lie! I either had macaroni in my hair, breast milk on my shirt, or swollen eyes from lack of sleep or tears.

I cried because I couldn't do it one more minute, not one more minute. But, I always did. Because we always do.

I cried countless tears of frustration and more born of exhaustion.  I never had the energy to fight them.  They came without warning.  They never asked permission.

The most bitter tears were those of guilt.  They are endless and they are remarkably heavy.  As a mother, it is those tears betray you.  You can rarely hide them.  They give you away.  They are not a respecter of persons.  Age, ethnicity, class, and religion,mean nothing to them. They fear no one.  It is these tears that crush you.  They rob you.  They are a gift that never stops giving.  They will cripple you, if you let them.  You cannot escape them for they will always catch up to you.  There was so much guilt.  The guilt that my boys never got the time they deserved, they never had all of me.  My world had just been turned upside down.  I was literally focused on  keeping these girls alive. And then the guilt that their premature births was my fault.  I had done something wrong.  My body could not carry them.  They were being put through every hideous test, machine, and practice because of me.  I would never be the mother they needed, I couldn't even carry them inside me.  Was that not the most basic of tasks?  Oh, and the ever paramount guilt of abandonment and refusal to let myself love them.  The fear of losing them was so paralyzing, I tried not to love them.  I refused to allow myself that luxury.  I could not bear to have them taken from me.  And despite my efforts to forgive myself for those things I thought if only ought of desperation, I cannot. I cannot deny wanting to wake up and have somebody tell me it never happened.  I remembered life before them and longed for the ease and comfort and relief it offered.  I would never be the same.  Neither option was inviting.  If they didn't come home, my heart would have left with them.  And if they came home, I would be consumed by their constant care, leaving nothing for my two other children I loved more than life.  It was the first time in my life, that I wasn't sure which would be the lesser of two evils. And I hated myself for it.  I could not watch their bodies fight the battle they fought.  I couldn't fight it for them and I was so angry.  The grief was paralyzing. I remember thinking I would eventually forgive them if they stopped fighting.  It would be selfish of me to ask anymore from them than I already had.  There was no winning.  That is the guilt that never leaves.  It unpacks and makes itself right at home.  You never get over that guilt.  Those tears I still cry.  They are the tears that never dry.  Always there, just below the surface.

I cried tears of absolute joy and overwhelming gratitude because there were moments when I found myself in awe that those four children were mine.  I could not figure out what I had done to ever deserve such goodness.  I was afraid I was too happy and that it was going to be taken away for surely I did not deserve so much goodness. I still have those days.  I am not sure what I did,  but I know this...whatever it was--it was something good! 

Let it never be said from my girls that they ever wore the same outfit, or hair bow their first year of life. They will say many things about me, but never let them say they were not dressed to the nines as babies.  Going through these pictures, I am almost embarrassed. I don't remember getting them dolled up, or shopping for them. But, from the looks of it--somebody did, because they are ridiculously overdressed.  In my defense, I received so many gifts. I have amazing friends and family and they like to shop. Girl clothes are more fun to buy than boy clothes, and when you have two babies in public, and they look this cute, you are granted celebrity status. I miss it. Nobody stops me anymore.  I don't hear people whisper when I walk by about how cute they are.  It was fun. I loved every minute.  

Warning: Yes, I like big bows. Huge! Colossal! I like them fancy, and the gaudier, the better. You've been warned.  Carry on. They also had their ears pierced before they came home from the hospital in February. Guilty! And yes, I had jewelry made. I was excited. It was a big deal! They had a rough beginning. They were spoiled. Sue me.