Planting Seeds

There are so many things rolling around in my head today I would be amiss not to torture you, my precious readers, with them as well.

As you know, I am an elementary school counselor. Before this I taught elementary school for many years, so I can absolutely relate to the teachers among whom I am privileged to work. I believe I blogged a long time ago about everything teachers, and all those in the school system do, in addition to educating their charges.

As my co-counselor and I have been preparing for ARMT testing week, I am again reminded of all the hats we wear as counselors. In fact when I began my counseling career I actually called the counselor at my former school with my head down a tad, saying "I'm so sorry! I had no idea what all this entailed!" Classes, books, and even internships do not prepare you for life.

Today a small flashback hit me to last year when a teacher actually said, "It must be nice sitting in an office all day!". I think bile rises in my throat every time I think of that (so don't think of it, Becky!) My sister once had no idea what I did and thought I sat in an office and waited for "troubled kids to come talk to me". Yes, there are some snippits of time as that, but there is so much more. SO much more. We plant seeds.

When I come home feeling like I have no idea exactly what I'm doing, IF I'm making a difference at all, I have to remind myself that I plant seeds. Teachers plant seeds. Counselors plant seeds. We all plant seeds. But here is a little idea of how we plant seeds...

We are the first ones called when a child has wet his/her pants and needs something to wear; when a child throws up or has a bloody nose and needs a new shirt; or when a child needs shoes because their's are too worn, too small, or their flip-flop broke. We see to it that children have appropriate clothing in the winter, good clean clothes and shoes if they are needy, and food, even on the weekends. We take calls from parents who are concerned (no, we can't tell parents what they say in counseling sessions), parents who are angry, parents who need to vent, and other schools who are inquiring about very transient kids that just left us to come to them. We call other schools to get records (sometimes five or six times before we get them), test scores, or to consult with other counselors. We work with attorneys ad litem, and DHR when we need to, regarding children's well-being, sometimes knowing our case will be 'unfounded' and worry ourselves sick about what will happen next.

We take children who are discipline challenges from the classroom for hours at a time sometimes, so the classroom can run smoothly; helping the child with classwork and trying to make lesson plans for our two week classroom guidance rotation (for me, 24 classes over two weeks). We have small group counseling, a LOT of individual counseling and we know how to document carefully because written notes can be subpoenaed. We plan Red Ribbon Week, specialty programs for older grades, work 504 plans, Impact cards, and testing materials. We also have duties like car line and breakfast duty every single day, so we can make or break how a kid's day starts on campus.We give pep talks to kids (and teachers, and each other). We deal with attendance issues, bullying issues, the rare suicidal child and children who self mutilate. We give out book bags, school supplies, hugs, snacks, encouragement. And wouldn't it be nice to sit in an office all day?!?!
Oh, and did I mention all the TESTING for which we prepare???? (Booklets and answer sheets and no.2 pencils! Oh my!)

Seeds planted: someone cares if I'm fed, clothed, if my work is done, and if my hair is combed. Someone knows why I'm acting out, what I go home to, why I'd rather sit with an administrator than in my class, Someone helped me keep my dignity, understood my darkest thoughts, wouldn't let me give in to them. Someone pushed me to be better, go further, give more. Someone sees something in me that is more than I see in myself. Someone planted a seed for me.


Today was one of those days I felt a little less than, in my profession. We were hurried, crazy, I made a couple of mistakes, and I had a child with me for discipline. He was being disrespectful, but I felt a lump in my throat because I truly love this child and I know a lot more of what he goes through than some. I looked him the eye and said, "I realize in ten years you probably won't remember me, but I WILL remember you, and I will still be there to help you if you need it. And I am now!". His demeanor changed. He looked down and did his work. I checked it. The day was over. Did it matter? Sometimes I think not, but when we plant seeds and immediately look down, we still see dirt, ground, soil. It takes time. And many others behind us to water as well.

A beautiful friend of mine called this week and was in tears because she always loved being a teacher, but it has become so challenging. She said "I feel like 'just a teacher'". I am thinking of her now. How ALL of us wear all of these hats, it isn't just me or my co-counselor, or teacher friend. It is every person who is committed to working with children. We plant seeds. We may not see the flowers now, but we plant them in faith.

Exhaustion settled in with all of us today at the end of the day. We start testing next week. I am blessed enough to work with beautiful spirits who will do everything I wrote above and probably more for these children because they love them, believe in them, and more importantly want them to believe in themselves.

So, while some may think we just sit at a desk, I welcome them to look at some of the seeds I have blooming now... in notes on my bulletin board, in colored pages and drawings posted on my wall, in anonymous letters from kids, and in hugs in abundance. Seeds planted in faith. Sitting at a desk all day? Now, wouldn't that be nice... not!

Coach Wilkenson? Oh, but it is to laugh!

I coached a running club over the last 9 weeks. The kids were totally awesome and it REALLY got some of the kids into running. One of the kids ran his first 5k recently and ran it in under 28 minutes. Another one of my kids participates in our middle school's track competition (ok, he did that last year before I ever came along). I love that they love this!

There is one student in particular that I have known for a while. She is smart and sweet and I was excited to see her signed up for our running club. She ran some, walked some, but never gave up. I was pleasantly surprised that she eagerly registered for a 5K trail run with me. *I* hadn't even ran a 5k TRAIL race at this point, but I thought, "This will be great! K and I can do this together!" And we did.

Street runs are easy for me, trail runs... not so much! BUT I wasn't about to let K know that this would be a hard run. I wanted her to experience her first race with the giddiness we all do. I wanted her to have the stomach nerves (a little), experience pinning on her first bib, listening to the announcer, and starting the run. I wanted her to know what it's like to wonder why in the world you're running! I wanted her to remember there is a finish line. I wanted her to proudly wear her first 5K shirt. :)

Race Day: My teacher friend and I show up pretty early. We wait a while in the car and then decide to get out and warm up. As we are walking I hear "Can I join?" It was K. She had been there well before we and I was thrilled to see her. Fast forward to the race. I had told her if she wanted to run, we would run, if she wanted to walk a bit, we would walk. I was staying with her to the end. I could sense the nervousness... maybe it was mine. The race begins. We ran a good while, over mud, through mud, around rocks, uphill. We ran. We ran. We decided to walk a little bit. I kept telling her to walk fast lest her body start cooling off and use more energy to warm back up. I was constantly saying "You can do this!", "Walk fast or trot!", "You've trained for this! You're half-way there!" I thought of every positive thing I could say to motivate K. She AMAZED me.

Let me say that this trail was not easy for experienced runners, let alone beginners or first time 5K'ers. I was and AM so proud of K for her strength; mentally and physically. As we neared the end of mile three and rounded a bend I said "K, your mom can see you now... we are running to the finish line!". As if on cue we hear "My baby!!! My baby!" or something like that, I couldn't hear her mom clearly because I was yelling, too. We had a good pace and about a tenth of a mile from the finish  I began to YELL, "SPRINT! SPRINT! SPRINT!" and she did. Her legs being longer than mine, she finished before I did by a second. I was laughing from yelling "Sprint", and I realized, I was tearing up. Her mom was there, at the finish line, throwing her arms around her telling her how proud she was. She had done it. Tears. Finished. Pride. Yes, I can!

I told her all along it didn't matter what anyone thought, it mattered that she was proud of herself. Today as we both sported our race shirts at school I put my arm around her and asked how she was, "Sore!" she responded. "Are you mad that I pushed you?" I asked. "No!" she said. We both smiled. She was proud, but I think I am prouder.

We don't do anything alone. She pushed me in ways she will never know. I spoke to her the words I needed to hear myself. I needed to know that what I was doing mattered to someone. I needed to feel successful; not for myself but in helping someone else.

K is going to middle school next year.  I am losing one of my students, but I just might be gaining a running buddy!

Running To or Running From?

Running To or Running From?

 

 

 

Many of you know that I love to run. I am not a big time marathon runner, but I am a distance runner wannabe. I trained last year for a half marathon and blew my knee enough that I knew for me, 5k races and maybe a little more distance would be about perfect for me. Disappointed and distraught, I kept running, trotting... ok, trying to not fall while moving forward. I am classified as a happy runner.

Today something horrific happened to fellow runners, helpers, family members, and all of us, as Americans. Hearing about the bombing at the Boston Marathon my heart sank. Who in the world would want to hurt runners? Runners are pretty harmless, right? My mind was swimming as I remembered my precious neighbor who qualified and was thrilled to go to Boston to run. Pounding my keypad as quickly as I could, I found that he and his family were ok, but not everyone gets that peace today and it hurts my heart.

People fall in love with running for many reasons. Stories of why and how people began their  jogging journey are as abundant and unique as the different types of running shoes available (my faves are purple, by the way). One reason I have heard time and time again and one reason I came back to running, is stress. Running is a great way to pound into the pavement the people with whom you are frustrated without really ever having to confront them at all. Running is a great way to have alone time with God. It's a great way to ward off guilt when you want a cupcake, a glass of wine, or simply want to stay in the clothes in your closet because you really can't afford to go on a shopping spree.

Running is great for your heart, your spirit, and your health (maybe not the knees so much). But when I was talking to a friend the other day, I said something that even surprised me. I said, "Sometimes I don't know if I'm running to, or running from." Being a reflective person, she said "That's an interesting statement, what do you mean?" I elaborated that when I run sometimes I feel like I'm escaping, running from the hard things I hear at work, the sadness that I know, the uncertainty that is life. I'm running from "You can't",  "You are such", "You will never", "You aren't". I don't know that this is such a bad thing. But I'm also running to. Sometimes, well, a lot of times, I pray when I run. Sometimes I see myself running to God. I run to happy places. I run to memories of laughter, a knowledge of present peace, of "You are", "You can", "You will".

This may or may not make sense for anyone. If so, I'm glad. Seeing the runners on the TV at the Boston Marathon, I couldn't help but wonder how giddy they were at the start of this day. You have to qualify to run the Boston, so I imagine they were proud, excited, nervous, and in a "pinch me, I'm dreaming" state; especially the first timers. What were they running to? It wasn't just the finish line, I assure you.

For the horrific people or person responsible for taking the lives of the two (as of now) victims, one just reported being an 8 yr. old boy, the drive behind those runners, their families, and the helpers is greater than you can destroy. It has also been reported that many of the runners finished the 26.2 miles and ran to the hospital immediately to donate blood. They were running to: help, care, love, save.

My run is a piddly jog really, but there is so much soul searching in that time. I imagine there was soul searching beyond our imaginations today, before and after the bombing, but especially now. I imagine more people will be out running. Running to, and running from. Mostly running to.

The Great Penmanship Debacle

“I just felt like I couldn’t get it right”. These were the words my son said to me this morning when we were rehashing something we were discussing last night. Ok, we weren’t “discussing” anything; I was giving him a hard time about something. In a way, we were joking around, but I was serious to some degree. It was stupid. Isn’t it always? It was handwriting. I was giving him a hard time about his signature and how I couldn’t read it.

                Liam, Mary, and I were all trying to “forge” each other’s names last night when I began talking about how kids really aren’t taught to write well anymore because they mainly type. I asked, “What are you going to do when you leave someone a note and they can’t read who wrote it?” Anyway, we were mainly joking, but I realized I had stepped over the line. It wasn’t one thing I had done or said it was just a feeling, a look, an atmosphere. I felt horrible. Not because of what I said, but because my son felt like he “couldn’t get it right” and because it was because of me. Nothing is worse.

                The words Liam said this morning were not to cut me or even to be passive-aggressive. We are fine, he hugged me good-bye like he does every morning. All shall be well. But those words have echoed in my head over and over, “I just felt like I couldn’t get it right”. How many times have I felt like that in my life? How many times do I go to bed at night feeling like the whole day was a day of “Just not getting it right”? How many relationships, friendships, words said, words unsaid; how many times have I walked away from something with that empty, lonely, beaten-down feeling of “I just couldn’t get it right.”? Countless. Countless.

                Of course I did what I always do when my heart wants to crack open and I have to keep from crying, I called my mom. She assured me that we would probably all live through this great penmanship debacle. I imagined the times she felt like I do today. Parenthood isn’t easy. Nothing is really easy. I cried a little, but I was thankful that I cared enough to cry. I was thankful that my relationship with my children means enough to me that words matter; to them and to me. I am thankful that sometimes it takes us feeling like we just can’t do anything right, to take stock in all the things we really do work at doing well; what matters, what doesn’t.

                Every day we get to start over. Nearly everyday something knocks us down or God forbid we knock someone down. But thank God everyday… no, many times every day we are given chance after chance to do the next best thing, to do the next right thing. We are given chance after chance to lift, encourage, and  breathe hope into others.  So when we sit and take stock in our day we don’t have to say, “I just felt like I couldn’t get it right” and heaven forbid no one has to say that because of us, we can say, “I didn’t do it all right, but I did some things well today. I would sign my name to today”.

                I just chuckled to myself when I typed that (and Liam will laugh at this, too)… just make sure when you sign your name to your day, your parents can read it ;)

                I have to end with the text I got last night from my daughter. She always texts me goodnight whether it’s from her dad’s house or upstairs at my home. The text read, “Mommy, you are the glue to my stick, the peace to my sign, the alarm to my clock, the jelly to my beans, the best to my mommy. I love you, goodnight”.

Liam and Mary, you are the life in my blood,

I love you,

Mommy

Becky Wilkenson

March 7, 2013

Where Did Big Hair Go?

 

I have felt a blog coming on for a long time, so this may be a combined writing of 3 or 4 blogs, or it may simply be one that makes no sense, who knows. It’s mine though, this writing, my ownership allows my thoughts to rush in like a flooding river.

Where did big hair go? If you grew up in or around the same decade(s) as I, you know that we are largely responsible for the hole in the ozone layer. We also saw leggings, leg warmers, chukka boots and heavy eye-liner the first time around (or second or third, I can’t be certain). You know that if you tripped and fell down, your hair would break off, so my sister warned me. My question is where did it all go? I see it’s coming back, but where did the years in between go?

I swear when I was younger I remember someone telling me not to wish my life away. I thought, “I don’t wish it away, I just wish I was a little older so (insert wish)”. Well VIOLA! Color-me-lucky, I got my wish! Now, for the life of me, I can’t figure out where the time has gone.

The other day I was proudly ordering flowers for my son’s date for his first military ball. You know, girls, the corsage that we wore proudly with our beautiful gowns and held onto, well, forever?  I called the florist and began to describe the dress to the best of my ability, given my son’s description to me consisted of monosyllabic words in a text message. I choked up. I did. I used to WEAR the flowers and now I’m ordering them. Where did the time go? A male friend at work said “Well, you should be good at ordering them!” to which I barked back “You’re missing my point!!!”

This same week my daughter had volleyball tryouts. Two days of grueling ball slamming for her and two days of grueling tummy knots for me. She has had private lessons for a while because this is important to her, but I also know that we don’t necessarily always get what we want. I tried to be very positive with my daughter, while also letting her know that just trying something new was a “win”. I wondered if I believed what I told her. I wondered if I would believe it if someone was telling me the same thing. I firmly believe that, for kids, but I also know how hard kids are one themselves, so I was prepared that if she didn’t make it, we would have to ‘back up and punt’ so to speak. Wednesday morning when “the list” was posted, my daughter had made the team. I could breathe again. I had been taken back to when I tried out for cheerleader (how many times?) and didn’t make it, and came home crying. I remember my mom, not her words of wisdom as much as her arms that reached out and held me. I remember her telling me “there will be other things”. And there were. My mom rocked. My mom still does.

Where did the time go? My sisters always joke that if you need a certain date recalled you ask Becky. I have a steel trap memory. I do. Well, until it has to do with something that is due, or something I did yesterday. Oh, and occasionally I go to doctor appointments an entire month early, but with DATES of things in our past, I have it down… at least I think I do and no one argues.

Memory can be a blessing, but it can be a curse. I do remember details. A lot. A LOT. I can’t for the life of me though, remember where the last few years have gone. I think my 30’s were spent chasing a toddler and then a newborn, then a school age boy, and toddler girl. I went through a divorce, had to go back to work, raised two kids and went back to graduate school. Fog. It’s a fog to me. I hate that.

I remember talking to my mom once about how fast time goes and she said “You have no idea”. I don’t remember where we were going, but I was driving and she was in the passenger seat. My heart took a picture of that because her words were meant for me to take notice. You have no idea. I had no idea.

I had no idea my life would take these turns. I had no idea I would be so incredibly blessed by these two amazing children, but that their lives would fly even more quickly than my own. I had no idea I would start to gauge that they are soon to be going to college and hopefully putting into practice all that has been passed on to them (not big hair). I had no idea that this teaching/learning period is so ungodly short! I had no idea that I would see myself, alone again and it scares me a little and I don’t like it, but I’ll figure that out. I had no idea God would show up and show out because I came to my knees and asked Him to take over.

So, where did this time go? Where did big hair and leggings go, and WHERE DID MY RETAINER GO???  I just don’t think we understand that this life is such a flash of what God has in store for us. It has to be. I am amazed at life. It’s fun. It’s whimsical. It’s a roller coaster so terrifying that you can’t wait to get back on again! What’s in store? What else is there? I treasure my past. My H.S. years (if you are reading this, you are a part of it and you know who you are) I treasure raising my children and these years. My heart hurts that it is flying, but I thank God, hear me when I say this, I thank GOD for this time to make or break my children’s memories. I thank God for this roller coaster and pray that it slows just a tad. I thank God that my kids listen sometimes and hope that they, like I, just might hear their mom say, “You have no idea” and one day they think about what that means… while styling all of that hair maybe… or finding the plug to the ozone layer.

Becky Wilkenson

February 22, 2013

Some Years

Some Years

 

I have felt another blog coming on for a few days. I wasn’t sure how to approach this one since the New Year is nipping at our heels. Should I go with the “What I have learned” angle or the “What I will do differently in the future” angle? What *is* a girl to do? I decided to go with both. This blog is broken up into two parts. You’re smart, you can follow me here.

Of course I should start with what I have learned, but there isn’t enough time, space, or attention span for me to write all of that. A novel in and of itself that would be! Being that 2012 seemed to be a rather ‘stupid year’ I will simply fill you in on the biggies of what I learned this past year. Please keep in mind that this life-education didn’t simply take place in one year, rather the “Ah-Ha” moments took place. In other words, more than one time in my recent past have I been set up to learn these lessons, but the light bulb actually came on during this past year.

So, what did Becky learn? I’m glad you asked! I learned that I cannot fix people. “Really? But you’re a counselor, Becky.” You say. Yes, yes, I am. I even had someone have the unmitigated (or unmedicated) gall to say to me in an argument, “You’re the counselor, you figure this out!” (You may gasp). Counselors aren’t supposed to fix people. Counselors show people that they have the tools to help themselves. They enlighten, encourage, show options for solutions, etc. If necessary one may give advice, but believe it or not, we really aren’t supposed to.

Another life lesson this year has been that there is rarely, if ever, an exception to anyone’s rule. By that I mean that if someone is a perpetual victim or martyr and try to lead you to believe that somehow you are their saving grace; that you are different, well, quite frankly, you aren’t. In fact you should see the BIG RED FLAG and run fast, far, and do NOT look back! You shall surely be blamed for downfalls and shortcomings as well, I assure you. Perpetual victims and martyrs love their role too much to leave it, so finding a savior is not an option.

I have learned that tragedies happen. It doesn’t matter if you have months to prepare for the passing of a sick friend or you wake to find that one has passed from an accident, there is no ‘being ready’ for this.

Swapping roles from counselor to mom and back is a challenge for me. I have always worn my feelings on my sleeve. Being a counselor I have learned to mask that a little and toughen up (Mom always told me I needed a tougher skin… I think I finally got it) but now I have a hard time reminding myself that it’s ok to be sad, or cry, or just to talk to someone. I guess that sounds crazy, but it really is a challenge. Learning to balance….learning to balance J

I learned that I really love to run because it gets a lot of stress out. I won’t run marathons or participate in Iron Man competitions because I want to keep loving it. I won’t run another race on a hurt knee (insert “Duh”) But I will run because I love it. I need it. It suits me. When I run, I pray, or think, or both. Or neither.

I have learned to really, really value friendships. I have the honor of being friends with some of the most beautiful, self-less people that I hardly knew at all a year ago. Instead of listening to what ‘others say about others’ we can all find many wonderful things about each other!

 I learned that I love to write. Someone used to try to get me to take writing courses. Why?!?! I love to write. I understand that my writing could be better. I understand that it could certainly be fine-tuned. I also have seen so many people take exactly what they love and have it turned into something they hate because it becomes a chore. This isn’t a chore. This is something I love. I can really channel some thoughts here.

I truly cling to my children and thank God for them every day. I can’t believe they are mine. I have this Ah-Ha almost every day and I’m glad that I do. I am amazed that I have them. I, and I don’t think I have ever admitted this out loud, am afraid of losing them. I have friends who are amazing wonderful people who have lost their children. No one should lose a child. I don’t understand or pretend to know what to say to this. I can’t speak for God and won’t even try. It’s sad and horrible and it’s scary. So, truly, I cling to my children.  I’ll leave it at that.

Most importantly, my faith has grown in abundance this year. When I look back at this past year, there are so many things I could say that I wish hadn’t happened, but I would also have to say that because of these trials, I have grown tremendously. Getting to a place where you have nowhere to look but to God is most humbling. I have learned that the more I try to grow myself; God decides He’ll grow me up in a different way. His ways are best, honestly, and certainly He knows where I need growth. I also know that He never leaves me; He loves me as I am, no matter my situation. He knows me, He made me. He loves me, accepts me, wants me, no… craves me.

 

So what will I do differently? I’ll talk with God more. I’ll really talk with Him. I built a real relationship with God and it’s so hard to put into words, and so personal that I won’t even try to explain, but I’ll talk with Him more, and of course, listen… a LOT more.

I’ll try (really really hard) to stop judging. I am putting myself out here for attack now b/c you now know that I am judgmental. I don’t mean to be, but I am. I fervently pray that I see myself and others the way God sees us. I want to be more understanding, compassionate, loving. That does not involve becoming a doormat like I have been in the past. There is a huge difference in being a doormat and having boundaries.

Speaking of boundaries… I’ll have them. It’s healthy to have boundaries. You empower yourself when you set boundaries. I recommend the book Boundaries if you aren’t sure where to start with yours, but I know now that I have let too many people walk all over mine, and truth be told, I have overstepped others’ as well. Boundaries: Have your own. Respect others’.

This year I will try to laugh a lot more. I don’t know where my laughter went this past year, but I am determined to get it back! There were many times this year that didn’t warrant laughter, but there were times that did and I had to make myself lighten up. I want to find that again.

And although this isn’t by any means all, it’s all I’ll write about for now, I will remember that although I can’t, God can, and He lives in me. I can’t find the right words right now, but you can, God, and you live in me. I may not have the heart to forgive that person today, but you do, God, and you live in me. I don’t have the motivation to do more today, but you do, God, and you live in me. So while I may feel unable, unmotivated, unworthy… God is able, ready, and worthy and alive in me. I can’t. He can.

So, while I know I have many blessings to count, I am ready to count the end of 2012 as one of them. I welcome 2013 and all the wonderment it will bring. I welcome the growth (oops, I need to be careful), the laughter, the fun, the friendships. I welcome the new memories to make. I welcome God to take care of us and lighten our hearts.

I’d love to take this moment to thank you for reading my writings. Many of you are so encouraging and I thank you for that. Your words to me are taken seriously and dearly.

I welcome you to chime in on what you have learned and what you will do differently as well J

Blessings and love for a wonderful New Year!

Becky

December 30, 2012

Jump

This blog somehow escaped transition from FB to my blogger page... I wrote it this summer, for my loves Liam and Mary.

The Extra Penny

To Liam and Mary – Jump

 

So I am writing my second blog of the day because there is so much stirring inside of me I need to get out; not just to Liam and Mary, but to myself and perhaps to someone else who may need this as well.

 

So I eagerly press ‘accept’ on my cell the other night because it is my son calling from Florida. He is visiting his cousins and having a ball. The excitement in his voice tells as much as his stories of the golf games, his time on the campus at WFU, sailing, etc. Then he says “Oh! Did I tell you about the alligator we saw while canoeing?” As I stammer with words, he manages to get his out more articulately. Apparently while the boys were canoeing they encounter an alligator “as long as our canoe” (about 9’) and “we could reach out and touch it if we’d wanted to”. My heart raced with words of warning, but I realized the encounter was over, he was excited, he had seen something I probably never will, and he was safe. I was almost, well, envious! Wow! Liam is smart and I trust he didn’t try to pet the thing, but he saw nature, in nature. He was taken away with it and appreciated the beauty of it.

 

Earlier this same day I had taken Mary Abbott and a couple of her friends to Pt. Mallard. She runs up to me and with giddiness exclaims “I jumped off the 2^nd platform!” I was so excited for her, because I remember taking that same plunge as a young girl. It is terrifying when you look down and realize how high up you really are. She said she kept her feet flat and they stung, but it was worth it. I was glad she didn’t ask first for some strange reason.  She was proud. So was I.

 

When my sisters and I were kids we did stupid things. The fact that we are all alive and healthy is still absolutely beyond me. Being raised in the sleepy town of Trinity we had to invent things to occupy our time. One of our favorite summer activities was to prop up the cushions from the outdoor furniture on the ground and roll, yes, do the dead-man’s roll off of the garage roof onto the cushions. Granted, the drop was only about 6 feet where we would roll, but still. We also had a designated ‘watcher’ who would watch for cars in the street while we would skateboard down Resse’s hill with immense momentum and no ability to stop. You had to really trust the ‘watcher’ and hope they weren’t mad at you for some reason. These are just a couple of things we have only recently shared with our mom.

 

My point is I love that my kids have no fear. I used to have no fear. When I had my car packed to leave for Auburn I told Mom, “I don’t really remember how to get there”. She said “Just follow everyone else with an Auburn decal.” I did! Seriously! I got there.  I don’t know when I learned fear, but I know that I am learning from my kids to get back to that and I am so grateful. I know that the things I regret the most are things I didn’t do. I don’t want you, Liam and Mary, doing stupid things like drinking and driving or doing drugs, but I want you to live and love with reckless abandon. I want you to risk you heart and laugh out loud as much as you can. Don’t worry about things that probably won’t happen. Just Jump.

 

I can promise you a few things: I promise you will get hurt; it may be your heart it may be some bumps, bruises or scrapes, it may be your feet if you forget to point them going into the water. But it’s worth what you learn from it. I promise some people will take you for granted and not understand your good nature. I promise things won’t always work out the way you plan. But I also promise you this; the giddiness from the jump is worth living in your heart over and over. I promise your heart will take more pictures than a camera ever will. I promise that for every person who may not understand or appreciate you, you will meet dozens and dozens who you will love and who will love you back. I promise God’s plan is bigger and better than yours anyway.

 

So please, be careful, look at the alligator but keep your hands inside the canoe. And point your toes when you jump. But jump!

I love you both,

Mom

P.S. On the days that I’m afraid, remind me to jump, too.