• Because I can’t fix everything
  • Because our school climate (my work climate) has become negative
  • Because the teachers are tired and frustrated
  • Because the system is broken
  • Because what about the artists—and inventors—and builders
  • Because I am tired of hearing that it’s because we’re not hard enough on them
  • Because some kids don’t eat, don’t sleep, don’t see mom, see mom get hit, or get hit themselves and then come to school and get in trouble for not doing their homework
  • Because they don’t tell you what happened because they are not supposed to
  • Because kids who don’t experience trauma at home do experience it at school when the traumatized ones lose control 
  • Because not everyone cares
  • Because legislators who don’t know a DAMN thing about our school decide the solution is to increase the amount, value and difficulty of standardized tests; while decreasing the amount, value and input of teachers
  • Because the brightest part of my day is feeding breakfast to the student who walked in 15 minutes late and braiding her hair so she can start the day feeling put together
  • Because we ALL want to start the day feeling put together
  • Because that is the only part of my day I feel I am accomplishing something
  • Because I don’t tell you everything they tell me—it’s called confidentiality
  • Because punishing them more doesn’t work
  • Because I don’t know what does

I can’t fix everything.

Some days I can’t fix anything.

But I can do this:

  • I can keep showing up
  • I can love every. single. one.
  • I can look them in the eye when they talk to me
  • I can feed them breakfast
  • And I can braid their hair

It’s not enough…  

but at least it’s something


I am now in survival mode. Winter has to end soon. This grayness is slowly but surely sucking the very life out of me. I am currently going through the motions and feeling NOTHING. My soul is dormant. Hibernating. Hiding from this grayness. I want so badly to sleep and eat and maybe watch some movies under a heated blanket and sleep some more. I don’t want to wake up in the mornings, go to work, drive the kids around, cook or clean. I am physically and emotionally drained. There is simply nothing left here.



I can’t stop thinking about you today. I think it really started yesterday. You see, I have been working hard at trying to crochet—you would be proud. Yesterday as I was working on Savannah’s hat someone told me he was impressed because he didn’t know how to crochet. He walked away before I could tell him, “My grandpa taught me.” My grandpa. The lineman. The Texan who collected knives and loved to go feed the ducks and could catch skunks and possums like nobody’s business. The one who raised cain as a teenager but who also married my grandma as a teenager and never left her side. The one who would walk with me and never ever rush me as we would kick a rock down the road and walk just for the sake of walking. The one who taught me what to feed the hummingbirds. Who helped me fall asleep when I stayed the night and got homesick. Who looked so surprised and happy to see me when I walked into the hospital room before your big surgery.

I am realizing that when we are young we seek independence so fiercely that we only see what makes us different than the ones who love us. But as we get older and our hearts continue to grow it is those things that are the same that we cling to. You have helped shape who I am. And in turn are continuing to shape my children. And even the children they will someday raise. You taught me so much about life. And people. And learning. And slowing down to look around. And most importantly (tonight), that even linemen can love to crochet.

There’s one in every class—and I get to raise him!!!

On the ride home from school today Boomer began diligently working on his homework. Until he became distracted by the urge to draw butt cheeks on his paper. Which, of course, he couldn’t resist. And had to show his sister-who also found it hilarious.
Then he decided to erase it, and realized quickly that was not going to work as he had drawn them too dark. He almost panicked…
“Uuughh, Savannah, WHY did I do this?!?”
“I don’t know!!!! Why did you do it?!?”
“Because I’m really stupid!”
“I know!!! At early care tomorrow I will just grab a new one from the homework pile and do the new one and turn it in! Unless they don’t have any….
I will just have to proudly walk into class with this one!”


Went back to look at my first post for 2014. You know the one where I made some goals. That I didn’t meet.

Here we are again, brand new year. Brand new goals or just re-use the old ones I never meet?

I’m honestly too tired to think about either option tonight. We had a great christmas filled with lots of family time that was super fulfilling. I wouldn’t change a thing.

I bought a jawbone because I am obsessed with fitness related technology—it helps me think about fitness without actually working out.

I also ordered an inner guide planner to help with my goal setting, living with intention, and reflection. It is supposed to be here Thursday.

I hope to start running again soon and am considering a boxing gym in February if I am still working out then…

So that is that. My new year. I think it will start tomorrow :)

Midlife Crisis

Lately I’ve been having moments of “Holy Sh*t I’m halfway to 70!!!”  I am assuming this is something everyone goes through, and yet it feels a little lonely.  I remember this very distinct moment as a kid.  We had just gotten home from who knows where and I was getting out of the passenger side of our truck and it hit me—this is my life.  This is my house.  These are my parents.  Of all the people in all the world this is me.  It literally took my breath away.  What did it mean?  Why me?  Why here, in this house, with this family?  I was both awestruck and terrified and completely unable to explain why.  That feeling is back.  I am looking around overwhelmed with the realization; this is my life, this is my house, this is my family.  Awestruck and terrified.  Walking around in a haze of how on earth did I get here?  Completely paralyzed by the reminder—this is it.  At best this is almost halfway over.  This is my one shot!  This is the only time I will be 35.  And then it’s gone—so so fast.

I recently finished reading “Something Wicked This Way Comes” by Ray Bradbury and the image of the carousel struck me deeply.  Each turn around is another year.  Just like that and it’s gone.  You stop and look around you and notice the subtle differences.  A few pounds, a lot of memories, the kids are taller, your body feels older.  And while you are standing and trying to digest and log these changes you look up and realize you’ve gone around again.  How did that happen?  How is it November already?  HOW AM I 35?!?

Pay no attention to the girl behind the curtain

The past few weeks I have been at my introverted best.  I have been sitting quietly.  Thinking.  Stewing a little.  Stepping on a soapbox only to immediately step off.  This is what I do with controversy.  I watch.  And listen.  And think.   And almost speak.  

Once again I have found myself at a loss.  Not just a loss of words, but at times even a loss of thoughts.  I don’t know what to think.  But a lot of other people certainly do.  Facebook has a way of handing everyone a megaphone.  While they sit behind a curtain.  Funny how much more one can say behind a curtain.  A little like I am now I guess.  I listened while everyone was shouting into their megaphones.  I listened while they chose sides.  I was both surprised and not surprised.  I learned that some issues are so polarizing that a middle voice does not exist.  I realized that I used to think the news was that middle voice, but have since changed my mind.  I found that everyone with a megaphone had an agenda.  And was shouting it into my face.  And yet not looking me in the eye.  Pesky curtains…  

Eventually I settled into a deep disappointment—not so much with humanity but with real people.  People in my life, people I socialize with, people who are my friends.  That is when I began to climb upon the soapbox.  But I stopped.  Why should I get a megaphone?  What agenda am I about to push?  Who am I to speak?

I went to a panel discussion.  One where real live people spoke to other real live people—about a controversial issue—without yelling—and while looking at each other in the eyes.  I was in awe of the exchange of ideas and emotion.  The cathartic outpouring of stories, of supporting each other, of looking toward the future.  Not everyone hides behind a curtain.

I realized that I am not ready to step on the soapbox.  There is this log in my own eye I must remove first.  I am not without guilt.  The beauty is that I now have a starting point.  A direction in which to move my foot.   I even have a plan.  I have heard that logs can be removed from eyes, but that it can take a while.  It may also be painful.  But all I can think of is how good it will feel when it is gone.

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