Hudson

Yogurt melts
Plastic keys
Squinty smiles
Busy knees

Crawling off to adventure
The dog dish
Fridge magnets
Surviving big brother's
Best intentions

A tiny heart beats for mine
A slightly older one
To his entwined

What He Thinks

"Punchinello?" The voice was deep and strong. Punchinello stopped. "Punchinello! How good to see you. Come and let me have a look at you."

Punchinello turned slowly and looked at the large bearded craftsman. "You know my name?" the little Wemmick asked. 

"Of course I do. I made you." Eli stooped down and picked him up and set him on the bench. "Hmm," the maker spoke thoughtfully as he inspected the gray circles. "Looks like you've been given some bad marks." 

"I didn't mean to, Eli. I really tried hard."

"Oh, you don't have to defend yourself to me, child. I don't care what the other Wemmicks think."

"You don't?" 

“No, and you shouldn't either. Who are they to give stars or dots? They're Wemmicks just like you. What they think doesn't matter, Punchinello. All that matters is what I think. And I think you are pretty special."

Punchinello laughed. "Me, special? Why? I can't walk fast. I can't jump. My paint is peeling. Why do I matter to you?" 

Eli looked at Punchinello, put his hands on those small wooden shoulders, and spoke very slowly. 

"Because you're mine. That's why you matter to me."

Above is an excerpt from You are Special by Max Lucado.  This book has sat on my son's shelf since he had a shelf.  It was mine from college.  For some reason, he never seemed too interested in it.  [Maybe it was the wooden puppet on the cover?  No offense Max, but it is kinda creepy.] 

Dakota had had a tough night.  Just tired I suppose.  The poor guy's evening from supper on was just one big meltdown.  Mommy was doing her best to not have a meltdown of her own.  I was surprised though when he grabbed this book to read before bed.  In fact, I even set it aside thinking it got tossed on the bed while he was looking for another book.  But there came a quick, "No Mommy!  I want that one!" So I began to read, waiting intently for his response - there was none.  He always makes a comment, always asks at least 5 or 6 questions, but this time - nothing.  

So I prayed over him tonight instead of with him, sensing that he maybe needed some extra TLC.  Again, he was pretty reserved.  No profound moments from the story or our prayer time.  

As I walked down the stairs, tears started to well up in my eyes.  Sigh... it was for me.  Oh, I know that Dakota got something from our time together and was just too tired to sort it out with words, but I could feel my heart ache and soften.  Another sigh... The line, "Because you are mine.  That's why you matter to me."  

I've been letting the lies of the world suck me in - "You're doing a terrible job. Why do you even try? Why aren't you more like her or him? You can't do that.  Why would you even dream of doing something like that?"  And when I start to do that, I start to forget just how precious I am.  The God in heaven who created unimaginable far away planets and each intricate snowflake made me.  And he loves me more than I will ever possibly know.  He wants me to not let those "bad marks" shadow my life because what does matter is what He thinks.  

A Special Job

My first trip down to visit the classroom where my mother worked as a paraprofessional in a "readiness" room was my inspiration.  I vividly remember a teeny little guy with super duper crazy curly hair that was practicing tying his shoes.  My task as a peer helper was to encourage and support him during his practice of this delicate art.  I did so for a few days and then one day - it happened.  A little nub of a loop connected to another barely holding on by the aglet.  He. was. so. excited.  The glee that poured over that little guy began like a rainstorm.  A few trickles of grinning, a compliment from me, a whisper to see if he could show Mrs. Keiper,  gave way to steady streams of congratulations, high fives and maybe even a few sideways shoulder squishes.

These days working with my 8th graders, it doesn't happen as often, nor as exuberant.  Ha.  That - would NOT be cool.  But seeing their faces light up when they've tried ten times harder than the others and only done half as well and STILL proud - that, my friends, makes being a special education teacher worth it.

My Monster

  Here's me.  My little monster avatar thingy for posting my Slices of Life-ez.  At first, I kinda giggled to see them all when others posted along with me, but I was secretly a bit disturbed by my own.  I mean, she has ice pic arms, cave woman hair, a mouth like a garbage disposal and sewn up eyes - is that like I'm squinting, or knocked out or something???  

Well, I don't always look like this, but there are times... when honestly, I feel like this.  Blue, un-huggable, and closing my eyes to the truth, while spewing loud horrible things from my mouth.  What's even worse it that happens more often at home than I'd like to admit.  This ugly little creature takes over my body and mind and  I find myself doing and saying things that I desperately want erased as soon as it takes place.  It's not a creature though, it is me, a part of me that I must learn to manage.  

Whatever the reason why I've lost my softness, I know at this breaking point that I must go back and amend.  Request forgiveness and mercy from the ones I hold most dear.  Both my husband and my son grant this so easily - it's humbling.  And through this humility I am warmed and become soft once again.  

Post-It

It's a cruddy picture, but for the past three weeks or so, every time I've been in our girls restroom at school, there has been different one hanging up.  This one says, "Smile - Make someone's day a shade brighter".  Others have said things like, "Hey beautiful" and "You are lovely inside and out".  I have no idea who's doing it, but today it finally soaked in just how neat it is that someone actually IS doing this, especially if it's a student.  They've made me smile to myself each time I've read them.  Today though, I couldn't help but wonder what young girl might read that same message as me and find that tiny bit of love and kindness that she so desperately craves.  

We think too much and feel too little.  More than machinery, we need humanity.  More than cleverness, we need kindness and gentleness.  
Charlie Chaplin

Light Brite

Tucked away
In my dark room
Huddled by an outlet
Leaning over my 
Gangly, criss-crossed, eight-year old legs

Tiny pegs
Neon colors
Pop
and GLOW

Electronic hypnosis
Calm and quiet 
In a riot of color

Slowly warped
Too many times
Left on
Camped beside 
My rainbow campfire

Slowly dimimished
Too many pegs became
G.I. Joe missles
and Barbie drinks

Miss this escape
Into a techni-colored
Dream

3 Strikes - I'm Out

Cutest blog on the block, eh?  Hmmm... yep - here's a cute one!  

There was an error in this gadget.

Sigh... Okay, well let's just post something.  I've got the Blogger App on my phone, maybe I'll try it out.  

Warning: Does not match your account.

... [10 minutes of tinkering] ...

... [another 10 minutes of tinkering] ...

Ahhh... okay.  Blogger App error resolved.  Now we're cookin' with Crisco.

Let's load a couple pics from today anndd... now what... Wait.  Why can't I type anything besides a caption?

OK, forget all the fancy stuff, that's not what this is really all about anyway, right?  I'll just save what I've got and...

An error occurred while trying to save or publish your post.  Please try again.


I think I'll just click Publish and, God willing, try again tomorrow.