a time for every purpose under heaven

Sixteen years ago, as a high school senior, I wanted to be an artist.

My dad told me that I should probably choose a real career.

Fifteen years ago, as a college freshman, I planned to combine my art skills and my interest in business into a career in marketing.

Everyone said I'd be successful.

Fourteen years ago, as a college sophomore, I fell in love with a group of third graders and decided to become a teacher.

My mama asked what had taken me so long.

Thirteen years ago, as a college junior, I found that elementary students were more than my patience could handle and I decided to teach high school instead.

People thought I might be crazy.

Twelve years ago, as a college senior, I found inspiration from a regular group of youth-center-drop-in kids and set my sights on teaching kids who needed me the most.

People said I reminded them of "the chick from Dangerous Minds."

Ten years ago, as a first year teacher, I worked harder than I ever thought I could with less than I ever thought I'd have.  Less time, less resources, less guidance, less places for students to sit than my enrollment required.  They told me that they would make me cry; I did not.  I thought I'd never be able to stay sane with more than a few teenage girls in one room.

People asked me if I was scared.  I wasn't.

Eight years ago, as a third year teacher, I changed schools.  Burnt out and losing steam, I was encouraged to give teaching a try in a new district.  The students booed me during an assembly. I got cussed out for the first time in my teaching career.  One of the first students I was able to make a connection with died of a drug overdose.

People said, "kids these days."

Yesterday, as a tenured teacher, I was told that my position was being eliminated and that I was being transferred out of the small, imperfect, often frustrating program where I have spent the last eight years.

My co-workers said, "Laura, we're sorry.  We'll miss you."

Tomorrow, I will tell my favorite group of homeroom students, 10 girls who I have grown to be so proud of, that our homeroom will be dissolved next year.  That I will not be their advisor or their teacher.  That I will not be there to greet them every morning or call them when they are absent or nag them about their grades and attendance.  That they no longer have to fear my English 3-B class.

I will tell them that I've never cried in front of a class before.

I know that my students will land on their feet, as will I.  We will move on and it won't be so painful as the days go on.  Doors will open for all of us that may not have otherwise.  They will form new connections with the teachers that remain.  But today, today is just kinda hard.

dumb.

You know what's dumb?  When people lie.

Right now, I'm lying to myself.

I'm telling myself that I don't care.  That I'm over it.

But I'm not.

Even though, I knew a long time ago.

Actually, when I think about it, the day I knew was the exact day that I started lying to myself.

That's dumb, too.

the day i couldn't concentrate

There are some days when concentration is simply impossible.

Today is one of those days, because...

We are on the verge of a four day weekend.

My new dryer will finally be installed on Friday {they are so kindly squeezing me in}.

I'm dreaming my dream where I move South and live in a little place where I can see the stars at night.

I am thinking about cowboy boots.

I am going to see this girl tonight with one of my besties.

I think I'm finally on the other side of the tough stuff for a bit.

I just checked out Gone With The Wind for my viewing pleasure this fine holiday weekend.

Did I mention that I was on the verge of a four day weekend?

So tell me, what's tickling your fancy this afternoon?

ode to a note

When I was in elementary school, the one where I had to bring my lunch, every so often I would find, stuck neatly in between the contents of my brown paper bag, a sweet note from my mama.

Handwritten notes are very important.  Especially in the age of 30-second, spur-of-the-moment text messages, e-mail, Facebook, and Twitter.


{We'll talk about the lost art of the face to face conversation some other day}

I've been reading a book about how the culture of Starbucks supports progress by following certain leadership principles.  The other day, I read the chapter about caring like you really care.  In that chapter, Howard Behar, the author, recounts how he sent a hand-written card to every employee on his or her birthday.  Every employee.  Every. single. one. of. them.

Whoa.

I mean, I spent a whole 31 days {ish} focusing on sweetness.  And.  I definitely covered the idea of caring like I care, even though I didn't really know that's what someone else had already called it.

I even planned to write a little ditty about the good 'ol thank you note.

But I didn't.

This week, though, I have been putting the idea of thank you notes into action.  With a twist.

The school where I teach uses a unique system to help track students' behavior and attendance over the course of a week.  The students carry a 4x5 in card to each of their classes, during class the teacher is able to mark if the student is not doing what he/she is supposed to be doing and the student is able to earn incentives if they have less than 3 marks on their card on Friday.

Because I hold on to the card during the hour and give it back to the student before they leave, I decided to use my trusty and super cute posty-note pad to leave encouraging notes to random students.  I don't write their names or mine on the note, because I don't want the kids to be embarrassed by the praise {or that I may have noticed they were feeling particularly down}; they know the note is for them because it is on their card and that is from me because it wasn't there when they gave it to me at the beginning of the hour.

I've given out five this week.

Most of the students have been very grateful and almost seemed to not believe that nice things could be said about them.  It makes me happy to know that they know I see the good in them.

it's the little things

It's Thursday again, y'all.  The second Thursday in November and right now that's a little bittersweet.  On one hand, I'm pretty pumped to be linking up with my blogger-buddy Julia and being thankful and all; but, it just hit me that this is only my 3rd post this month.  I guess I'm still suffering a bit from my 31 Days hangover.  At any rate, I've had tons to be thankful for this week.  So, let's get this party started...

feelin' all prettified 'n stuff
Very little makes me feel prettier than looking down at my hands when they are painted pretty.  Usually, Tuesday night is my nail 'n Hart of Dixie night.  Monday night, however, it became clear that my nails just could not make it to Tuesday {honestly, they shouldn't have even made it to Monday}.  I treated myself to a new color and painted away.  I'm still smiling at the cute new color and polka dots :)

repeating numbers
Some time ago, I decided that 11:11 was not enough.  The way I figure it, whenever a number is repeated three or more times, something special is happening.  In my world, it's a little love note from God to remind me that either I'm on the right track or that everything is gonna be okay.  Sunday, I received a phone call that came unexpectedly and answered a little prayer I've been praying lately.  When I hung up the phone, the time read 2:22.  I do not think this was a coincidence. at. all.

chivalry
I'm a strong, independent woman who believes enough in her own invincibility to occasionally attempt to break up fights between students.  Yesterday was one of those occasions.  Luckily, two male teachers saved me from myself and intervened, thus saving my fragile notion of invincibility and the bag of M&M's I was eating.

more chivalry
Upon the retelling of the incident to my principal, two Army recruiters, who happened to be in checking up with another student, overheard my peril and jointly offered their assistance.  They even volunteered to teach a class for me.  Complete with PowerPoints.  I love PowerPoints.  They are men after my sweet little heart {at least in my mind, anyway}.

running ridiculous distances and the cheering squad
I ran my fifth half-marathon with my super-duper running buddy on Sunday.  Last week was horrible. Not only was I able to leave the nonsense on the course, but I had an amazing and humbling outpour of support wishing me luck, cheering me on, and congratulating my finish.

Happy Thursday lovelies,

i kind of like november

Yesterday was kind of like crossing the finish line of my first half-marathon.  Pride.  Disappointment.  Confusion.  Excitement.

31 Days of Sweetness.  Over.

But, now it's November 1st.  And I kind of like November.  It may be my favorite.  It is a thankful month and I have a lot to be thankful for.  A LOT.  

So without further ado, I'm linking up with Miss Julia over at black tag diaries for a little bit of a thankful Thursday.

Faith.  

I've been doing a lot of praying lately, y'all.  And without putting all of my business out there, I promise you I would not be out of my bed right now if I didn't have my faith in God and His perfect plan.

Friends.  

Today is one of my favorite Anonymous Beloved's birthday.  Prior to this morning, when I called to wish him happy birthday, we had not talked for almost a year.  And yet, his voice was as familiar to me as if we spoke yesterday.  There is something so comforting in knowing that my peeps have my back and it prides me to know they know I have theirs.

Additionally, I have some seriously amazing AB's who have supported me, prayed for me, and put up with my crazy out of sheer love.  When I look through my text messages and replay certain recent events in my head, I am humbled at the amazing people who bless my life.

Family.
Maybe I'm a bit biased, but I have an amazing family. Enough said.

Happy November Lovlies,

day 17: give thanks

Whoa!  I've kinda gotten a little bit off track on my 31 day goal.  No worries, though, I have full intentions of jumping back on track and gettin' it done.  Rest assured, my lovelies, even though I haven't been writing, I've been doing some thinking and experimenting.  Trust me, I've had a lot of opportunities to practice my sweetness.

But without any further ado...

Today we're gonna talk about being thankful and giving thanks.  It's really really easy to get caught up in the hardness of the world around me.  It's second nature for me to be looking for the better option.  It is not easy for me to be actively thankful as I pay my bills, get up for work before dawn, and go about all of my mundane daily tasks.  BUT.  Those are precisely the tasks that we need to be most thankful for.  Here are just a few of the less-than-bragworthy things I have to be thankful for today:

Source: sparkpeople.com via Laura on Pinterest

I'm thankful for the bills in my mailbox because they mean that I have a job and can afford to have warm running water, electricity to refuel my many electronic toys, gas to heat my house and cook yummy meals for myself and friends and family, a fun car to drive, and a cozy house to hug me.

I'm thankful for four o'clock alarm clock because it means that I have a job to go to.

I'm thankful for my most difficult students because they push me to be a better teacher and person.

I'm thankful for my exhausting, whirlwind trip this weekend because it meant that I could see my cousin get married and spend time with my mama, aunts, uncles, and cousins who live far away; because it gave me a chance to explore a new city; and because I was able to have a fabulously interesting conversation with a stranger on the plane.

I'm thankful for the dog-hair tumbleweeds in the corner of my living room because it means that my ferocious man-eaters are alive and well.

I am thankful for the muddy paw prints on the kitchen floor because they mean that I have a back yard for my man-eaters to run and play in.

I'm thankful for my dishwater-chipped nail polish because it means that I had the resources to cook, serve, and eat a good, hot, hug-in-my-belly kind of meal for my dinner.

It's easy to be thankful of the good stuff y'all, but the sweetness really comes from being able to take the costume off of the things that look like curses and burdens.  What are curses and burdens are y'all thankful for today?

day 16: pray

I often compare my runs to life, it seems that each little run is a lesson that helps me move forward in my everyday life a little more smoothly; but, I also like to compare the bigger picture of life to a vacation with a lot of different people.  Almost ten years ago, my family took a four-generation, seventeen-person, two-minivan vacation to Florida.  Both grandmas needed wheelchairs, one needed to be pushed while the other refused to sit down; my step-grandpa wanted to go to Gatorland; the little girls wanted to be princesses; my brother was afraid of the water at SeaWorld; and, my mom and aunt made us all wear matching t-shirts.  We all had stuff we wanted to do, expectations for the trip, and the mutual conclusion that if we couldn't get along, we wouldn't have fun.  I think life is like this.

One of my Anonymous Beloveds is a tremendous planner.  I'm not gonna lie, I love to vacay with her because everything is always taken care of.  Even when something I'm not super into is on the agenda, I'm able to relax and enjoy it {some times more than others} because she's got everything under control.  I know for a lot of people in my life, I represent a similar calmness and security.  We all represent this for at least one person in our lives.

And, sometimes it's a lot for a girl to carry on her shoulders.  But, y'all already know that.

It's no surprise {or probably a coincidence, either} that I've been working through some stuff as I've been writing this series.  In a way, we're always working on something {or working on not working on it}.  It always is just a wee bit funny when the thing I've been searching for has been in my face, under my nose, or in my hand almost mocking me while I've run around like a cray-cray trying desperately to find it.  And of course, it's way worse when I'm über-stressed about all of things I've got to get done and all of the people who need all of the other things, and so on and so forth. So here's what smacked me in the face yesterday morning.  Y'all ready?

God is kinda like my AB, except with way more resources and is not at all daunted by carrying it all on His shoulders.  He's ready to take the load.

Then, I realized that in the midst of all of this stuff, I had forgotten to pray.

Source: thebestpinterestpics.blogspot.com via Laura on Pinterest

The thing is that praying isn't just about asking God for the things and outcomes that we want; it's about confiding in Him our deepest fears and concerns and asking for advice.  It's a conversation.  And it doesn't always take place while I'm on my knees at the side of the bed.  Sometimes it takes place while I run.  Sometimes over my morning coffee.  And sometimes, little signs like repeating numbers or the hourly notifications I set on my phone telling me that God is in control reminder me that I'm on the right track or that I need to get back on it.

When I first got my man-eaters, I read A LOT of books about dog training.  One of the most consistent piece of information I learned, no matter the method, was that dogs need to re-learn everything you teach them in every new situation they are in.  Humans are like that, too.  It so explains why I give great advice that I, for the life of me, cannot follow myself.  {It's okay to nod your head a little bit if you see a little bit of yourself in this, I won't tell.}  It also explains how I forgot to pray.

Stuff can be throw-you-off-the-tracks-completely hard.  Really, it's just a new opportunity to learn something new or master a tactic.  For me, it's been a little bit of both and prayer is a necessary piece to lightening the load.  I know for sure that carrying it all around does not a sweet lady make.

day 15: make it fun{ny}

Source: playwithyourfamily.com via Laura on Pinterest

A couple of weeks ago {ten and half, to be exact} I was fairly successful in my personal goal to have a good ol' almost-pee-my-pants kind of a laugh once a week.  I was successful for three weeks in a row.  Then.  I went back to having an adult life, filled to the brim with deadlines, to do's, seriousness, meetings, and all of the other stuff that a girl can ignore during a summer hiatus from the adult world.

Two weeks ago, I caught myself, mesmerized in of my Godson's laughter and I realized how far away I've gotten from my own.  There is nothing more beautiful that the way children look and sound when they laugh.  For just those few moments, all that is arduous and burdensome in the world disappears and there is only the sweetness of pure joy.

Since I re-became a functioning adult, I have not laughed good and hard, much less hard enough to almost pee my pants.  I'm not sure how sweet a girl can be when she's too busy taking the world so seriously.

My solution?  To fake it till I make it, baby!

Source: lovwekanc.com via Laura on Pinterest

When I was a kid, one of my favorite games was the ha-ha game.  The rules were simple, in a group of at least two people, each person took a turn saying "ha" one more time than the person before her.  So, for example I would say "ha" and then you would say "ha ha".  We would continue doing that, adding one ha at a time until one player {usually me} could not control the serious any longer and burst out in genuine laughter.

I seriously loved that game.

Today, I will be playing it with myself.  All.  Day.  Long.  Maybe even all week.  I'll be the one laughing at her own jokes.  The one putting things back into perspective.  The one reclaiming my sweetness, one laugh at a time.

day 11: relish

It was as the end of second hour today when, while patrolling the classroom, I looked back up at the board as a reference to the point I was making and experienced a small surge of joy run through my soul.   What, you might I ask, could a girl possibly see that could possibly bring so much excitement?

This:

I'm bringing diagramming back, yo!  

Then, ya know how there's always those people at the gym?  Today there was that woman who could not for the life of her seem to pick up her feet while she ran.  For reals, I could her the squeaking of her shoes fighting the belt on the mill over the Eric Church I was rocking out to.  And, a couple of weeks ago, I was on a machine next to that girl who used the treadmill like it was a ballet bar {for the record, I love me some fluidity bar workouts, I just tend to think it best to use a *bar*}.  At any rate, I think I became THAT girl tonight, right next to the squeaker, while I mouthed the words to every song {and maybe, possibly threw in a couple of head bobs or arm movements} over my whole. entire. fifty-five minute. workout.  and ya know what?  I don't care.

Earlier in this series, I mentioned the charming little objective of having a life that hugged me back as a priority to becoming more sweet.  In order to have this, a girl needs to relish in the things that build her up and while those things are different for everyone, the tend to fit into at least one of three categories:

• Things I love and I do not mean that I like them.  I mean I love, love, love them.  The reason doesn't matter, just the love.  
• Things I need.  I did not need to make pecan pie last night, although I do need to eat, but I love pecan pie and so I did make it and then ate it for dinner.
• Things I use.  Not the things I'm going to use when..., but things I use now or for a particular occasion, like my Christmas tree.

Of course not everything is going to fit into one of these categories, like say, the dear beloved who drives me batty with crazy talk about things that are not usually very important to me.  I do not love him, probably don't need him, and find very little applicable use in him {although once in a blue moon, he reveals tidbits of information that I find intriguing} BUT I do value him as a human and as a beloved and so it is important to me that I am sweet to him.  

You know the old adage about dancing like no one is watching, it's about creating that life that hugs you.  It's about relishing in the things that bring us joy.  Because as I realized while I mouthed along on the hamster wheel marinating over this post, the more I surround myself with and relish in the things that really matter, the more my life hugs me; and, the more my life hugs me, the more easily my sweetness flows.  When my life hugs me {for me it's when my relationship with God is open, my running is regular, and I've been able to, if only for a short while, let go of the what-if's that often plague me}, I feel balanced and that I can grin and bear the not-so-sweet aspects of life for just a little bit longer.  I may not particularly love that dear man, but I do love the peace that comes from an amicable relationship with him.  It becomes a cycle y'all. 

day 10: the truth doesn't have to hurt

When God installed the filter that runs between my brain and my mouth, I'm certain that it was one of the cheap ones.  And for the most part, it works just fine, especially for all of the big, chunky obnoxious comments that I keep to myself on a regular basis.  But suffice to say that I'm not known for my finesse in addressing difficult situations or subjects.  I'll blame it on my immigrant grandmother.

I'll be completely honest with y'all, well, 'cause that's what I do.  Sometimes, I don't even realize how mean some of the things that come out of my mouth really are.  My heart's not made of stone; and while I'm pretty good at apologizing, I probably take for granted that the people who know me just accept this as one of my flaws.

Yesterday, while I was focusing on not complaining or bringing nonsensical drama to the party, I was apparently failing to pay attention to how I was saying what I was saying.  It was brought to my attention by a third party {because, I'm apparently a wee bit intimidating as well}, that I may or may not have said somethings that may or may not have hurt a person's feelings.  This is not the first time I've been notified of such a thing and so I was not surprised, but definitely a bit remorseful {but only sort of, because, I mean, it was the truth}.

But still, it left me wondering if I could have delivered the same message with just a tad less brashness.  Would the message have been lost?  Would my sweetness have been perceived as weakness? Does causing a person to shut down or feel the need to defend themselves really help the message?

After some serious thought on the matter, I'm going with a big fat no.  A spoonful of sugar really may help the medicine go down!  Who knew?  And thus, one more reason to work on my sweetness: to be more effective.

I've heard relationships be compared to bank accounts via many different sources.  The way I sometimes pretend that I have an unlimited supply of money in my checking account is similar to the seemingly endless supply of support,  patience, and understanding from my beloveds.  I roll along all hunky-dory-like until I gravely discover after procrastinating on paying the bills for one-too-many days or one-too-many humorously judgmental declarations, that I have once again, taken for granted how far I can really stretch a dollar of either currency.  The remedy, apparently, is to save four dollars for every one I spend and to give a person four positive statements for every negative.  If this is true, I've got a whole lot of complementing {and saving} to be doing!

The next phase of this whole sweetness project is to employ my newly aquired questioning technique to understand the logic behind a person's action instead of making mean, mocking, or angry judgements and assumptions; to watch my words and the way I use them; and to avoid at all costs making any interaction a public spectacle.

This is, by far, the most difficult task I've set for myself yet.  So, please, help a sister out: what do you do, or have you done, to help you remember to bite your tongue {especially when you're so Mike Tyson angry that you'd like to bite the other person's ear instead}?  Thanks in advance, I knew y'all would have my back!

day 9: quit complaining

Some time last year, a beloved and fellow blogger, suggested that she had been abstaining from complaining.  I've been marinating on this idea for about that long.  I mean, I really like the idea and admire her for sticking to it, but I mean, let's be for real.  I like to complain.  Mostly because it means that I can hear myself talk a bunch more, I like to call it venting.

Look, y'all, I'm just being honest.

So this next couple of days, I'm challenging myself to work on my words.  The current challenge is to relinquish my tendency to bring my personal {and very important} critique and drama to any given interaction {including those that take place in my head}, unless of course, it's funny.  I love being funny and laughing with people, especially over my many tribulations.  

As a side note, it occurred to me this morning that it's been over a month since I've laughed so hard that I almost peed my pants.  That needs to happen.  stat.

Today, I managed to circumnavigate commiserating with no less than two Anonymous Beloveds.  And, I'm working on putting some current Little Miss Salty drama nonsense on the figurative shelf for a later date when I might actually know precisely what to do with it {or it simply just works itself out, drama is funny like that}.  It has felt good to clear out the nasty clutter that seems to have been pervading my brain for the last couple of weeks and I'm starting to feel like the more light-hearted version of myself, who I love way more, again.

Of course, I'll admit that I slipped up.  at lunch.  while discussing a topic I've been particularly crabby about lately.  And you know what?  It was not sweet, quite the opposite in fact.  And it made me feel a bit ugly. and people left the room.  ew.  not sweet.  at.  all.

I will say, now that the day is over and I'm safely tucked in my warm bed, that despite my flub, I had an overwhelmingly better day than I've had in a while.  The crazy thing is that nothing that has been going wrong corrected itself, but I stopped focusing on it and started focusing on the things that I do have control over.  I had a great conversation with an AB that wouldn't have happened if I had not been able to keep my drama-mouth shut and I enjoyed my Hart of Dixie mini home-spa night way more than when I treat myself to a whine, wine, and ice cream night.

day 8: payoffs

I spoke with one of my Anonymous Beloveds last night.  She yells a lot.  It seems her kids usually err on the side of bad.  I do not think she is very happy.  I contemplated telling her about this here project thing I've got going, but I didn't want to get into it.  Sometimes sweet means, simply listening without giving in to the overwhelming need to give advice.  I got to thinking though, that she gets a pay off; she's in it for something.  We all are.

No matter how selfless or selfish a person is, everything they choose to do gets them some type of a pay off.  The problem is that most of us don't even realize that our rewards are making us miserable.  But what's my payoff for being sweet?  For sucking it up when I really want to tell the mean mommies to shove their stupid little rain boots where the sun really isn't shining or  from shoulder checking the person who's too busy yelling into her cell phone to see that she's walking on my side of the isle at the store?

I think the ultimate payoff is the world we build around us.  My girl Flylady suggests that we all deserve to build a home that "hugs" us.  Isn't that a fabulous image, y'all?  I want a life that hugs me back.  All the same, it's hard.  Its hard for me to make friends, well real friends anyway, you know the ones you really let get to know you.  Ok.  If we're really gonna be honest here, it terrifies me to be vulnerable in the same way that my man-eaters pace in the basement with their ears perked up, eyes so wide I can see the whites of them, and tails tucked to their bellies during a storm.  So, I've adapted.  I'm the girl with a plan, the one with doggy-tranquilizers and peanut butter as soon as the tornado sirens start wailing.  You know, the self-reliant one, the regular old boy scout.

To simply say that I want a life that hugs me back in return for my sweetness is only scratching the surface.  I want a life that hugs me back because sometimes the walls I build to protect myself leave me a tad bit lonely.  Because one of my greatest pains in life is watching others live a life that I can only dream of right now.   One of my very special ABs always reminds me that when the pain of remaining the same becomes greater than the fear of changing, you'll change.  I'm learning how to be vulnerable one sweet day at a time and my payoff for becoming sweeter is opening my life up to new possibilities.  What are your payoffs?

day 7: what you might miss

I got my first real experience with the mean mommy group today.  No, I'm not a mom; but when I take my Goddaughter out, people assume that I am.  It gives me an interesting perspective, people treat moms different and not always in a good way, for reals.  When I found out I was going to have Little Miss today, I began planning to watch and learn lessons in sweetness from the two-year-old perspective.  I know I'm partial, but she really is a sweet girl.  I had no idea, though, that I would have such a tremendous opportunity to both practice and observe sweetness in action in the adult world also.

It just so happened that I was watching my little charge on a whim today and so I'll gladly take the I'm-Not-The-Mom Caregiver of the Year Award for taking her to not one, but two fast food chains to eat over the course of my eight hour shift.  She's apparently not a fan of left over chili, one hotdog was not enough, and it sorely broke my heart to watch the child happily eating ketchup with a spoon asking for chicken.  And so we ate chicken nuggets and fries and played in fast food play places twice today in two very different parts of town and had two remarkably similar experiences.

In both establishments, I got snubbed by the cool-mom groups.  As both groups clearly ignored my existence, one maybe a little more blatantly than the other {it was probably my failure to choose to wear yoga pants and rain boots out in public that sealed my fate there}, I made the powerful observation that both groups were also ignoring their kids.  There were, however, a handful of moms {three to be exact} who seemed interested in monitoring their kids' play and those were precisely the moms with whom I had the pleasure of exchanging a simple smile.

As I expected, it was the kids who demonstrated the purest sweetness.  The younger the child, the more likely he or she was to interact with a new person in a welcoming way.  When I let LM play on the play place with the bigger, more rowdy kids {I know, I know, as if the food wasn't bad enough...} it was the youngest of the kids who stopped to acknowledge her and even gently guided her out of the way of the bigger kids who clearly did not see her.

When LM walked into both play places, she was cautious but determined to play.  She wore a smile and was clearly perfectly content to play with a new kid or by herself.  And as I sat and enjoyed watching her play I was reminded that if I would have taken the time to have been angry or hateful about being snubbed, I would have missed the sheer joy of that lovely little girl's sweetness.

day 5: a choice

When I first formulated my mission statement, and much more recently the topic for this series, I was not thinking of myself.  Okay, well kinda, because deep down I knew that the only real way to enhance my own life was to be an enhancement in the lives of those I meet.  And let's be for real here, everyone we know and love in our lives was, at one time, a stranger.  So yes, strangers are included in this.

We have nothing if we have no one to share the ins and outs, ups and downs of our lives with, and while it's super important that we surround ourselves with people who genuinely care about our lives, we have to genuinely care about theirs as well.  And sometimes genuinely caring about someone feels downright uncomfortable.

A seriously foundational book for me, one that I've reread several times, is The Five Love Languages by Gary Chapman.  In it he outlines the five ways people give and receive love by suggesting that love is not only a verb, but also, and probably more importantly, a choice to learn and give love in the way others are uniquely built to receive it.  The most important message: it's your job to find out what makes the people you love feel loved.

Because being sweet has a lot to do with getting out of our own heads and loving people {especially our loved ones}, it's important that we actively remember that what makes us feel loved will not automatically make someone else feel the same.

So let's put the last two days into perspective here:  we cannot be sweet to people if we don't see {physically and figuratively} them because we are too busy walking around in our own drama and even then, if we fail to take genuine interest in what makes them unique because we are still in our own drama or do it solely as a means of getting attention, then we have done nothing more than allowed the important people {and we've already established how strangers fit into this} to become physical objects that stand to be manipulated or avoided.  What I've learned so far in this process is how unbelievably scary, amazing, and so precious it is when I shut my mouth and invite another person to share their world with me, even if just briefly in a passing conversation or exchange of hello's.

Being genuinely sweet is mindful choice to put our own desires, needs, and insecurities aside for the benefit of someone else.  It means sweetly reminding ourselves that there is greater joy in doing for others.  Today, I challenge you to put it all together and make the choice to be sweet for someone else's gain, for the sole purpose of letting them feel uniquely special.  Then, please, let me know how it goes.

day 4: old dogs, new tricks, and the intersection

True story.

I had been watching a particular student's body language during my week of observations and could tell, based on some of the subtle changes in her body language, that something was going on with her.  It so happened that I found myself standing next to her in the hallway and I took note that it was a perfect time to check in with her.  I headed off the conversation with the standard, "How is everything going?"  Her response: "fine." Aaaaannnnd.  Silence.  She looked at me, I looked at her.  and.  nothing.  Within milliseconds, the friend that she had been waiting on appeared and they had both disappeared into the abyss that is a high school hallway during passing period and I hadn't done anything to build that relationship.

I do not love awkward silences, and, well, let's just get this out of the way, I love to hear myself talk.  I think I'm very funny and I'm fairly certain that I'm always right, additionally I'm certain that my insight will always help a person solve their problems.  It has always been my M.O. {mode of operation, I love this asking questions thing!} to strike up a conversation by way of a personal funny story, allowing the development of conversation to rest on the continuation of my stories or on the other person asserting their own stories, questions, or comments.  If I'm gonna be honest here, I have to admit that I'm not really a great conversationalist.

And thus, we return to the failed hallway attempt to be sweeter.  I don't honestly think the poor girl knew how to respond.  She may have been waiting to hear what I was going to say; she's very respectful that way.  She could've been been laughing in her attempt at my feeble attempt.  Maybe she was just counting the minutes until we were no longer sharing the same air.  At any rate, the lesson here is two fold:

• It's not enough to simply take notice, now I must take interest.
• This ish is hard.  

The solution to lesson one: start askin' some questions.  The solution for number two: suck it up, the good stuff ain't easy.  

My second attempt at taking an interest came out a little more like a police interrogation, during which I may have appeared only slightly more inept than I did during the blank stare I encountered in my first.  BUT, all was not lost, in every failed attempt there is a new opportunity to succeed, here's what I learned after this go-round:

• Slow down and listen, asking questions means nothing if I'm not paying attention to how the person is answering.  This is not an archeological dig; every word has the potential to be a precious key into understanding that person.
• Ask more open ended questions, for goodness sakes, let the poor person give an answer that consists of more than a simple yes or no.

If at first you don't succeed, yada yada yada.  Luckily, the third time was indeed the charm.  And I tell you what, magic happened.  Ok, so maybe without the angels singing and such, but still, it was a proud moment.

I was riding in the car with my particularly handsome potential suitor and because I was taking notice, it became clear that he was, maybe, not overly thrilled with something and grunted something along the lines of "long day" when I inquired. {I'm sure it didn't help that we had to fight traffic twice because I left my phone, especially after I jested about always being prepared for anything ... any who...}  My choices became clear: let the silence be, interrogate, or start talking.  I soaked in the silence.  The cool thing was that as the evening went on and I continued to eloquently pepper the quiet with inquiries {read: stay as far away from the third degree interrogation schtick as possible} and kept the "I" statements to a minimum, the worry lines started to fade off of his face, his posture became a bit more open, and his grunts became whole sentences.  I'll call that a success and I'll gladly pat myself on the back for it.

Old habits die hard, that's for sure, but old dogs can learn new tricks.  Becoming a sweeter person will not happen over night, nor it will I be successful at it on the first try.  There is a leaning curve.  Sometimes, all I can do is look back and learn from what I could've, should've or would've done.  The cool part, though, is that, even when all I can do is look back, it is enough.

day 3: take notice

I'm a very important person.

On any given day, my mind is madly overflowing with an obscene number of pressing issues.  Important people are reduced to simple items on a list waiting to be checked off, special events are resented as duties, and gift cards are unapologetically given for lack of a more thoughtful gift.

There is just so much to do.

I know I'm not alone in this.  On the rare occasion that I've managed to step outside of my own Very Important Pressing Issues while out and about, it's clear by the apparent grimaces {no, not the purple guy from McDonald's} on peoples' faces that they are also feverishly consumed by their own VIPIs.

And so my first mission in becoming a sweeter me took shape.


It has become clear to me that I cannot possibly be sweet to anyone if I am unable to get outside of my head.  Since we're taking baby steps here, I began my journey last week with some good 'ol people watching.  With the help of the phenomenal little book You Say More Than You Think,  my goal was to simply make observations, without attaching judgment, of the people I encounter on a daily basis.

Can we say mild anxiety attack?

The truth is, it's been a long time since I really paid attention to what and how people communicate.  I get so focused on how I can use the information that a person is giving or how I can give my personal expertise as a response that I find myself only listening to the facts not the person, or worse, simply biding my time until my turn to talk comes back around.  {I really do have great stories to tell!}  When I opened my eyes,  took off my me-me-me goggles, and got over the overwhelming amount of information that people share without speaking, I realized how small my world actually is.

Then, almost in the blink of an eye, it occurred to me that, for some of the people I had been observing all week: my students, co-workers, friends, family, and potential suitors {he stepped back on stage, hurray!}, I am part of their stories and the way I hold myself and speak to them is intertwined into theirs.  It is truly a humbling notion.

It's no longer quite so overwhelming to take notice of the people who I encounter in my daily life and it is refreshing to be able to almost automatically remember that I don't already know what is going on in a person's mind based solely on what he is saying or doing.

Being sweet means recognizing that other people's stories and experiences are just as important as mine; I can't possibly expect another person to take notice of me if I can't get out of my head and notice how important they are also.

big-girl panties

I cried in school for the first and last time in the first or second grade.  I was in gym class and I was the last person to be chosen for a relay-race team.  So, I cried.  I mean, I was already the worst relay team pick, being a crybaby about it wasn't going to score me the points that having me on the team would lose.  I don't think I cried much, but I was embarrassed enough to determine never to do it again in public. 

And I didn't.

Even the day at recess in the third grade when, while practicing my less than mediocre baton-twirling skills for the upcoming talent show (hey, I had dreams y'all, a bit far-fetched, but dreams!), I managed to catch the baton with my eye socket.  The only black eye I've ever had.

And.  I didn't cry the day I nose dived through the asphalt recess area that year and got the huge scab that ran from the tip of my nose to the top of my lip, either.

And.  I also didn't cry when the bully-est girl in the first row of my first class on my first day of teaching told me that her sole intention, until I was otherwise notified, was to make me cry in front of the class.  For the record, I was never notified otherwise.

Nope, that gym class made me a tough cookie.

Ok, so I may have taken it a bit to the extreme and attempted to swear off crying as a whole.  At some point I convinced myself that much like the fact that there is no crying in baseball, there should be no crying in life either; that crying was useless; and that, probably because it's what my dad always used to tell me, it was just gonna make me sick.

My mantra: Pull up your big-girl panties, Laura, and suck it up.

Until yesterday.  When my mantra couldn't quell the emotional overload.  When I cried a little in the after-school privacy of my classroom, and then more on my way home, and then a whole lot more when I talked to my mama early in the evening.

Until yesterday, when I truly realized that I have been successful in beginning to build real relationships with my ABs where I am ok letting them see me in a truly vulnerable position, as opposed to the ones I craft in order to have something to kick up a fuss about.

I've learned that sometimes, most of the time, a person simply cannot do it all all on her own and keep a straight face.

Sometimes it's the only real initial response to a whole truck load of emotionally overwhelming nonsense being dropped off at your front door for you to deal with immediately at your own expense is a big, fat, ugly, mascara-running-down-your-face cry.  possibly while attempting some sort of consolation in a bubble bath.  Eh.  It happens.

Sometimes, it is times like these when a person, especially one who takes pride in taking care of the people she loves, such as myself, gives her loved ones the gift of letting them be there for her.

This morning, I'm focusing on pulling up my big-girl panties and getting through the whole. entire.  truckload. one issue at a time.  But I know now, more than ever, that it's okay to cry a little sometimes and that I have amazing people cheering me on.

Bring on that truck,

the things that stick

My mom's mom is 94 years old.  She is the daughter of immigrants.  Stout and hardheaded, she is demanding and opinionated.  She is more likely to scorn you than hug you.  And, even when she is proud of you, she'll shame push you to do better the next time.  In short, picking out a mother's day card for her is a real chore; she is the polar opposite of my other grandma.

Grandma told me once, in a conversation I vividly remember, that the most important thing to remember is to always put on a happy face in public.  I was in the fifth grade and had already begun to suffer from a constant nagging of dark emotions.  I was already starting to learn how to hide the sudden urges of tears that would randomly appear behind my eyes.  I was increasingly concerned that once people got to know me that they would find me high-maintnace and annoying.  I had already begun learning in my own world to put on a happy face, and the Grandma confirmed that it was the best thing I could do.

For much of my life, I've gone back to this advice and questioned whether it was the best advice to have given me, or if it were, in fact, true.  Today on the back porch of my aunt's house, I watched my Grandma carefully.  She's here visiting for the weekend.  Although, apparently, she doesn't really know she's here, but that revelation came later in the evening.  At the moment I was most carefully watching her, I was thinking about how we never leave certain things behind.

She was talking to one of my cousins, I could see the lady in my grandma, the one reserved specifically for public appearances, come out.  She has forgotten so many things, like how many grandkids she has, what she ate for breakfast, that the lens fell out of her glasses...  She probably wasn't even completely sure with whom she was talking, but she smiled and nodded and asked clarifying questions and that was enough for a pleasant conversation to have taken place.

It was this unfailing appearance that I was thinking about while I studied her.  She is a woman with whom I have had many disagreements.  She will argue about almost everything and does not back down.  ever.  She often asks questions that she doesn't care to hear anyone's answer to, especially when she is trying to feed a guest.  She loves in her own way and she sets the bar high, probably too high.  She isn't able to follow conversations like she used to and it's more likely than not to look over at her and find a blank empty look in her eyes; but as she sat there, on the back porch, attempting to be engaged in conversation, she still smiled.

Currently, my grandma exists as a tragic shell of the person she once was.  Her memory is fading, she can barely hear, and she seems to be able to do little else than fight back against the people who care for her the most.  But, after all of that she still remembers to smile and nod, goes to church, and takes care not to look a mess in public.

hi, um, i'm crazy

In honor of the fact that I have had Miranda Lambert's "Only Prettier" stuck in my head all day, I was going to write a bit today about the necessity of putting one's self in a pretty package, but then I got to thinking a little about how a chapter in the book I'm reading cautioned me this morning about being too judgmental, now I'm thinking about how one of my AB's is a recovering crazy and how much I love her despite, actually mostly because of, her crazy.

Then it dawned on me.  We have a lot in common, my crazy AB and I.  Which means that I might be a crazy, too.  Of course this makes me laugh, because I believe that crazy people always think they are sane.  I, of course, pride myself on my level head and ability to stay completely cool and confident in all scenarios. Ohhhhhhh, the irony.

I think crazy is kind of like having cankles.  First, you should know that I've been secretly self-conscious about my ankles since I was in the fifth grade when a super cute, older boy told me that girls with fat ankles were ugly.  He then pointed out that mine were "a little on the thick side."  Boom.  Actually, that's probably when the crazy started, too.

At any rate, I noticed that my cankles showed up a little today.  It's back to school time, which means my summer of healthier-than-normal eating etc. is over and I've already caved in to my ceremonial 10 am bag of Chex-Mix and can of Mountain Dew.  Trust me, it does lovely things for water retention.  Since we've already established that God likes to make good and clear those delicate little lessons I'm supposed to be learning, there is probably no coincidence that as I was strapping on my running shoes and thinking about the sad state of my lower legs, that I heard the sounds of Miss Miranda over the radio waves.

You catch more flies with the sweet, pretty taste of honey, y'all and neither sodium-induced cankles nor act-like-you-lost-your-mind crazy are all that pretty.  That's for sure, but we all have a little bit of both in us.  And let's be honest, pretty isn't all that easy, neither is overcoming water retention or maintaining sanity.  It takes time and patience to do things for ourselves that make us feel pretty and I guess that's where this whole post comes full circle: there's a little bit of sanity in being able to laugh at your crazy and those of us who choose to act "prettier" will be prettier.

Having confidence is just like being you, only prettier.   You know what you had to do to earn it and believe you're worth the work to keep yourself that way.  Oh.  Wait.  Isn't that kind of like sanity?