Build-a-bear mom hearts

I only blog when I'm sad. Or contemplative. Or I need to sort through something. I haven't blogged in awhile. Because life's been good. I've been busy having bonfires, playing cars, and teaching "little one" how to walk, and making things for kids at school that may work for a day or a year, and I've just been blessed and content. Then, came the week before Thanksgiving.

For those of you that don't know, we were broken into while we were both working. I came home from work and found it first. I left right away out of fear, and Will came in and double checked. After all was said and done, we were left with missing our computers and our safe, which had our passports, house keys, car keys, birth certificates, social security cards, check books, marriage license, etc. We were also left with our living room a mess, things pulled out from under our bed and night stands, and a feeling that someone was in our house that wished harm upon us. It's a sickening feeling. We lost many things that day, including losing a sense of safety and security in our own home. So, we've been sad. We've cried, and we've tried to rationalize in our head that everything is ok. I know things can be replaced, and I know that no one's going to steal our "identity." But what I can't replace are my photos and videos of my boys, which were stored on that computer. On that computer were also our vows, wedding video, all my documents from college that shaped me, my electronic journals from the past 7 years, and other documents that mean nothing to anyone, but they mean everything to me. But the photos and videos of my babies are gone, and that is truly painful. I called Apple in tears asking if they could pull anything, and I've begged people to send me anything they have. The night after "that day," I just couldn't sleep. I was devastated. I got up and stayed up until late into the night crying and crying. When this happens, I grab my journal.

You see, I process with words. Alone. I can't call and talk it out. I can't go for a run. I have to write. So, this is something I wrote. There may be more blogging over the next couple of weeks, because unfortunately that was only the beginning of a pattern of bad, horrible things that happened in our lives and the lives of those we love and call family. So, there's lots to process. Lots of words that will need to be written and lots of sadness to be sorted out.

I haven't been able to post this, because I had no computer to do so. So, here's a post from my journal. And maybe, it'll help me sort it out. The sadness is still overwhelming and hits me at the quiet times. So, I know that this will be a process, and I know it doesn't compare at all to other's loss. But this is my way of working through it.

"Life is full of moments. Life happens fast, and moments fly by. Moments can elicit all kids of emotion; anger, jealousy, anxiety, and so on. This week, I experienced something new. Someone came into our home, where we eat, where we play trains, and where we are a family. They were uninvited, un-welcomed, yet took whatever they wanted. To them, it was money. For us, they took our security. Things that were ours.

I think God made moms with extra hearts. As a child, I went to build-a-bear and after you stuff your animal of choice, you kiss a little heart and slip it in the bear or elephant that you are "creating." I imagine God does the same thing with moms, except they get 8-10 hears depending on how many little ones they get to love and care for. So because we have these 8-10 build-a-bear hearts, we can't help ourselves. We cry when they're born. We cry when they roll-over. We call everyone when they start walking. We laugh and laugh when they giggle at a funny face. These are the moments in time you want to freeze. They won't happen again. They just won't. So, I've done what all moms have done. I documented every moment. I never wanted to forget the little things; any sneeze, tickle, laugh, tantrum, "I love you," first steps, the first time they say "mama," because these are the sacred moments that make all those build-a-bear heart aches. I mean aching. I can just look at my boys, and I am already crying. You see, the love and adoration for my boys runs so deep and rich in these everyday moments, that I physically hurt. And then, in these little moments, I'm reminded how blessed I am.

So my husband gives me a hard time for having too many photos and videos on my phone. It makes it slow. Blah, blah, blah. But I would watch these little moments over and over. We set up a way on my computer to organize them. I could find any moment by month and year. And I could relive any moment anytime I wanted. And all those build-a-bear hearts hurt all over again as I watch short videos of all the silliness of life when you're two and the sweetest moment of that two year old meeting his new little brother.

I figure there will be a day when my teenage sons tell me I don't know anything and I'm the worst mom ever. Then I'll sit down in the quietness and pull up a video and watch them tell my how much they loved me while eating mac-and-cheese with that sweet two year old smile. I'll watch the songs they made up and danced to. I'll watch the day we brought each of them home and the proud look on my face as I looked down and kissed all over their newborn cheeks. These are the moments that you always have.

But then there's the moment when someone is in your house who doesn't belong. And he rips the computer off the wall and runs out. With all my moments. He takes all my moments. I write when I'm sad. Friends, my build-a-bear mama hearts ache, cry, and beg for these moments back. These videos and photos are apart of me. They are the story of my life. I will remember what I can, but the memory will fade. I won't be able to hear Fin's little voice yelling when he went potty for the first time. I won't be able to show our boys the day mommy and daddy said "I do" to one another forever. I won't be able to show Granger how many people committed to praying over his life when he was dedicated. I won't be able to watch the tender, special moment that we brought Granger home and Fin got to meet his best friend and playmate, who he thought was baby Jesus at the time. I won't be able to watch Fin balancing on Will's hand in a hot-dog costume, or watch the first time we gave Granger a bath. So tonight, I weep. I cry for what's lost. The moments. My build-a-bear mom hearts are heavy tonight. Life will continue to happen, and it's full of moments. I'll just have to pray that I never forget the old ones. And I pray that the visitor who came uninvited to our home will never hurt someone else as much as our family has been."

We are still blessed. God is still good. I pray he experiences deep forgiveness. But the sadness is still there.

Inferencing, Sequencing, and the Balding Middle-aged Man at Jiffy Lube

I took Fin with me to get the oil changed. He brought along a "Little People" board book. It's a book with short, stocky kids that always have smiles on their faces. AKA "Little People." They're normally riding a bus, going on a field trip, or attending school. You know, the books where everyone is happy, and you can open flaps to find where the little Asian girl is hiding. For Fin, reading is hands-on, silly, entertaining, a vehicle to learn words, a way to pass the time, and something he can tell us about.

I brought a book along with me in case the oil change took awhile. I'm reading a new Rob Bell book, which is challenging my "Bible School" faith and stretching my every day beliefs. This book is opening my eyes and making me stop and think. Reading is a treat for me, and I read books to learn and sometimes to take me to another world altogether. For me, reading is challenging, comforting, cozy, enjoyable, and very much apart of who I am.

The balding middle-aged man at Jiffy Lube opened my car door with an umbrella in pouring rain inviting me to wait inside until the car was ready. He noticed Fin reading and said, "Oh, he's reading already? That's great!" I told him that I was a teacher, and I've always made him "read."




He then told me that he has never liked to read and still didn't know how to read to this day.

I hope my face didn't show what happened to me in that moment. Because in that second, in that moment, my heart sank.



There are many things wrong with education. Perhaps the biggest problem is that there is a little boy who turned into a teen-ager who turned into the balding middle-aged man at Jiffy Lube who still doesn't know how to read. Maybe the most painful part of his statement was that he never liked to read. He never found success. He never fell in love with Boo Radley or a story of a boy with a giant peach and mysterious friends. He was never opened to the world of story, friendship, castles, aliens, knowledge, and of people different than him. Perhaps he was never given a book about cars. And how they're made and how to fix them. No one took the time to give him a book about how to be a mechanic, how to run a business, or which cars go the fastest.
You see, for the balding middle-aged man at Jiffy Lube, reading is boring, hard, frustrating, painful, and embarrassing.




I'm sure this balding middle-aged man at Jiffy Lube had teachers. He had homework and tests. He was probably given books from the school library. He might've had a favorite teacher. They probably taught him to infer based on details from the text. He might've practiced sequencing and putting steps in order in fiction and non-fiction texts. But, the education system has failed him. It happens all the time. He was passed on from grade to grade, teacher to teacher, skill to skill, with continuing to fail. However, to me, he isn't the failure. His teachers failed, because that child never learned to read. He never learned to enjoy reading. Sure, they taught him. They read to him. But getting a child to learn is a different story.

Maybe the greatest disservice they did was take the wonder out of reading. They made it a chore, a worksheet, a "read to your partner," homework, and a painful reminder of how much he didn't know and couldn't do. He was probably surrounded by successful kids who were reading chapter books with no pictures. He probably felt like a failure and in turn decided he was a failure of a reader and would never be a good reader. And, he probably gave up.

So now, there's a balding middle-aged man at Jiffy Lube who beams when he sees a 2-year-old "reading," because maybe that kid would be successful.





I teach lots of kids who can't read, won't read, and hate to read. It's because they've lost confidence, and they think they aren't smart. And, it's boring. 70% of my kids read below grade level, and everyone knows it. I can teach them to infer, sequence, and all the other skills they need to be "successful" readers. Or maybe, my time would be better spent helping a child find a book on cars. And how they're made and how to fix them. And how to be a mechanic. Or a dancer. Or a firefighter. Or a mom. Or a writer. Or a basketball player. Or about divorce. Or violence. Or gangs. Or music. Or puberty. Or single parents. Or Dads in jail. Because that's what interests my kids. That's their world. Not the story of a girl who meets a friend at the park. Not a story that they have to answer a, b, c, or D to at the end.

I firmly choose to teach at a school with kids that are below grade level. I want to keep my kids from being the balding middle-aged man at Jiffy Lube. Instead, I want them to be the balding middle-aged man at Jiffy Lube that knows how to research the best parts for the newest car, knows how to manage and own a business, knows how to honestly persuade someone to make the best choice for the safety of their family in the vehicle, knows how to read for pleasure on vacation when they need to "get away," knows how to get information on anything in the world, and knows how to take their grandson to a far off kingdom as he reads to him before bed.

There's a lot wrong with education. The best thing we can do as teachers, parents, babysitters, aunts, cousins, business people, and citizens is to instill in ourselves and our loved ones a love for reading. Because if you're a reader, the world is limitless. For Fin, his world is little people hiding in the classroom and you have to open the flap to find the little Asian girl. For me, my world is wrestling my faith and what I've always believed and seeing if it holds true. My hope is that this balding middle-aged man at Jiffy Lube will find a world that he enjoys; one where he is safe, successful, and smart.