Mama, I'm Coming Home

I went home this past weekend. Dropped the kids off with the parentals at their new address and headed over to my childhood home for one last visit. I requested to visit solitarily this final time. As I entered through the backdoor, wistful visions of strolling down memory lane penetrated my mind. 114 N. 4th Avenue was empty and quiet and I felt the contentment that seems represented when Maya Angelou wrote, "The ache for home lives in all of us, the safe place where we can go as we are and not be questioned."

Everything seemed smaller than I remembered. The once-towering colonnades that separated the living room from the dining room must have shrunk over the years. Without the furniture and books and knick knacks, the rooms appeared tinier.

As I walked through, I willed myself to remember things....what were the special memories I wanted to recreate and capture in my mind's eye so as not to forget them? Although I only officially lived in this house for 7 or so years, this was the home where the most recent and longest part of my childhood had been spent. The memories should have been pouring out by now with a full-on nostalgic eruption. Yet, that was wasn't happening. "I just need to concentrate harder," I thought. I opened closets, ran my fingers along the carpet, peered through windows and jumped up and down. Not much. My mind was blank.

I decided on trying another floor and started up the stairs. The wooden banister with the little seat at the foot of the stairs was one of my favorite features of our house. My mom used to hang a heavy drape half way up the stairs to save on the heating costs during the winter. As I made my way up, I snapped a few pictures, more to have for later on when maybe I would have difficulty recalling what the house actually looked like.

As I peered into the bathroom and my sister's room, I reflected on how things had changed since I had lived there:  the upstairs bathroom had been beautifully remodeled by Fred and the door and balcony that was once in Laurie's room was no more. However, nothing struck me as particularly sentimental. In a last-ditch effort of desperation, I tried to locate the spots on our bedroom doors that were once pummeled with scratch n' stickers. Alas, there were quite a few missing swatches of varnish but I couldn't really distinguish what constituted a sticker blemish and what made for some other type of door mishap. I did pause to think about the fact that my mom actually allowed my sister and I to decorate our hardwood finish with unsavory stickers galore. She was a nicer mother than I. On second thought, maybe that was done without her prior authorization.

I saved my room for last. I am not really sure how we picked our bedrooms back in 1984, other than my mom got the biggest, as it should have been. There were pluses and minuses to each room but my room had a very unusual feature - a small closet that was raised a couple feet above the floor. As I opened the door to it, I was surprised to discover the pleasant scent of cedar. I say surprised because I tend to associate memories or time periods in my life in one of two ways:  either through music or scents. I did not recall the closet smelling like cedar when I lived there. The scents I do remember would be my mom’s sheets smelling like Downy and Vicks VapoRub when we were sick, or my favorite meal of homemade chicken and noodles cooking on the stovetop.

I sat thoughtfully in my adolescent bedroom for a few moments and remembered the posters that had lined my walls:  Billie Jean-era Michael Jackson, Leif Garrett, and Andy Gibb to name a few. With a smile, I thought about some of the music that headlined my birthday party that year and how my friends and I all dressed up like our favorite musicians: Boy George, Cyndi Lauper and Duran Duran. I even got the Air Supply cassette tape as a birthday gift. I am sure my mom must have made my favorite chocolate macaroon Bundt cake.

Finally, I headed back downstairs with plans to walk around outside. I am not sure what I expected to feel when I walked in for one last time but I guess I was thinking a bit sad, somewhat emotional, and nostalgic. As I began to mentally prepare for departure, I realized that while I still had some reflecting to do, I mainly felt peace and gratitude. I got to visit one last time. My parents have a beautiful home that is perfect for them and we can all enjoy together. This house will be a great home for another family. Home really isn’t a location anyways. The memories have started to come back and I know they will continue to trickle down. This quote by Amelia Earhart may sum up my experience best:  "The more one does and sees and feels, the more one is able to do, and the more genuine may be one's appreciation of fundamental things like home, and love, and understanding companionship."  I am grateful for all of those things and I know the home that my mom created for my sister and I had a direct influence on that. And with appreciation, I even kissed the door before I shut it and said good-bye.

Berkeley Bear

I have always told myself that I am not a “dog person”.  And I really believed it, even after having had several dogs.  In fact, I could be heard telling friends and neighbors as recently as a few months ago that after our dog was gone, we would not be getting one again.  I had stacked up quite a bit of evidence to make this claim:  I don’t spend 100% of my time with our dog, I feel irritated when the dog barks really loudly or comes into the house covered in mud or wakes me up at night because of a storm; I don’t take pictures of myself and my dog; our dog isn’t part of our Christmas cards; I don’t enjoy cleaning up after the dog.  It’s a pain when we want to travel, my mom has dog allergies, dogs are expensive, they are a huge time commitment, and the list would go on and on.

Then on Sunday, August 9 of this year, we unexpectedly lost our golden retriever Berkeley.  I say unexpectedly in that when we dropped him off at the kennel for our annual trip to Okoboji, he seemed to be in good health.  Given, he was a 12 year old retriever and we knew he wasn’t going to be around forever.  Some understandable decline had occurred with age (he did not jump up on the bed as easily, he started to have some extra fatty deposits, his fur was getting whiter around his face).  After a very brief, acute illness, he was gone and we were devastated.

After Berkeley died, for at least a week or more, I couldn’t fall asleep at night without thinking of him.  Quite a few thoughts and emotions were swirling around in my head and through my heart.  Had he suffered?  Had he been sick at the kennel and no one noticed or bothered to tell us?  Did we miss something?  Well-meaning friends and acquaintances who were trying to help told me he was probably too old to kennel and the stress had been too much for him.  (This did not help; it made it worse).  Guilt, anger, and sadness enveloped me, especially at night when Berkeley’s absence was palatable.  At night time, he would always jump into bed and lay beside me until Jason came in.  He would then quickly jump down and lay on his own bed next to ours.  

After the first week, I found myself going through basic routines as if we still had a dog.  I closed the baby gate and pocket doors before I left the house to keep Berk out of the carpeted part of our home, only to realize I did not need to worry about that anymore.  I made sure to close the garage door so he wouldn’t unknowingly get out.  I started to run up from the basement to greet him when I thought I heard the familiar jingling of his collar and dog tags. Early in the morning as I left to go to the gym, I would step over the space where his bed was to avoid stepping on him as I gave Jason a goodbye kiss.  The mail came without incident; no bark to alert us it was here.  I slept through the first storm in a long time, not even realizing we had one.  No Berkeley to wake us up.

The weekend he died, we coincidentally saw the movie Inside Out.  We made the connection as a family about how Berkeley represented both Sadness and Joy.  Just as the family learned in the movie, we were experiencing Sadness because we had also experienced Joy through knowing and loving Berkeley.  In the 24 hours before we lost Berk, I snuggled up and petted his soft, fluffy fur and talked soothingly to him.  I told him he was my baby and my Berkeley Bear, like I had always done. He still tried to wag his enthusiastic tail at me.  Our boys and Jason did the same and we all told him the things we loved about him.  We drove to the farm together and buried him right next to where we buried our first rescue dog, Jazzie Catherine.  We said a prayer and thanked God for Berkeley and all the Joy he brought to our lives.  We each shared a special memory we had with him.

We all experience grief differently.  Our youngest wanted to get another dog right away.  Our oldest said he was never going to get another dog again because it hurt too much when we lost Berk.  I mentioned the idea of a neighborhood memorial service for Berk with the neighborhood kids like happened for one of our neighbor’s cats; our boys were not ready for that.  We read the book The Ten Good Things About Barney by Judith Viorst.  Our boys really don’t want to talk about Berk much yet; the pain is still very raw.

Last week, Jason and I both looked at one another and admitted we both really, really miss not only Berkeley but just having a dog around.  We miss the companionship, the playfulness, the watchdog spirit, the happy-go-lucky willingness to always please.  I realized other things we miss, too,  like how much we experience nature through the eyes of our dog.  Watching Berk run through the crinkly, crunchy fall leaves while we are searching for ready-to-burst milkweed pods was always a delight.  His playfulness in winter when running through snow drifts at breakneck speed was contagious.  Those things will all be different this year.  Not bad, just different.

It has been six weeks since we lost Berkeley.  We are not jumping into dog ownership right away.  However, we have allowed ourselves to start looking at Petfinder.com again, researching various breeds, and thinking about that backyard fence we always wanted to build.  I probably will never be one of those people who has my dog’s name on our address labels. Or get my dog’s picture taken with Santa.  I likely will never cheerily pick up dog poop or wait in eager anticipation for the seasonal shedding of my dog’s furry coat.  (Not that there is anything wrong with those things).  However, I have learned that despite the potential drawbacks, the positives far outweigh the negatives.  I have revamped my definition of what being a “dog person” means. I think I am one of those people after all.

Teacher Crushes

So, I am not talking about teacher crushes like thinking Mr. Wardenburg was really cute in junior high.  I am talking about being a super fan of great teaching - the kind that makes me want to be friends for life with the person, constantly pick his or her brain and probably borders on stalkerish.  I admit I have had a few teacher crushes like this in my life - some as a student, some as an educator, and a few as a parent.  

Education is something I am super passionate about.  When wearing my school counseling hat, I believe it is important to advocate for ALL kids.  When wearing my parent hat, I want to make sure that my kids are challenged to learn and critically think rather than do crosswords and word searches.  As a student, I want to always get better and learn more.  

Hence, my list of the things I have noticed that fantastic teachers do:


1.  They care about students and have relationships with them.  This year one of my colleagues shared with me that she had conversed with a student about her mother's soup recipes and had requested to have some of them.  This is one of our very "difficult" students.  The fact this teacher had taken the time to know more about this student and her family than simply writing her off as a behavior problem, was a big deal.

2.  They have high and clear expectations of their students - they model and teach and reinforce those expectations.  Miss Nook, anyone?

3.  And they surround the kids with 360 degree support so they can meet and exceed those expectations.  Eric Jensen writes about this concept in Teaching with Poverty in Mind.  When I walked into my second grader's Fall Party this year, all of the kids were circled around another student reading aloud.  Beckett was seated at his desk, finishing some work.  His teacher was right next to him, guiding him while also working with another student and chiming in on the group discussion.  The patience and compassion I saw in her actions toward my son (who can be quite challenging!) made my heart sing.

4.  They foster a growth mindset in all kids by continuously telling and showing them that when they work hard, they will grow their brains, get smarter, and get better.  

5.  They are vulnerable - they know they do not have all the answers and are not afraid to admit it. They are humble and sometimes even self-deprecating. They always want to get better and learn more (see #4).  They are not threatened by other learners or questions or a continuous cycle of improvement.

6.  They engage learners and do not rely on worksheets to deliver content.  One of my son's teachers told us at a conference that she was "not a fan of worksheets."  He learned a great deal that year.

7.  They teach and model character.  They weave it into their classroom and their instruction.  I know of a teacher who took two days off from teaching science to work on social skills, relationships and community building because the kids needed it.

8.  They are solution finders and problem solvers instead of problem admirers or yes butters.  Bottom line.  Every time, without a doubt.  

9.  They involve families.  

10.  They like kids and are able to see strengths in every child.  Educator Rita Pierson says great teachers like every child and if there is one they do not like, the child would never know it.

11.  They are human beings.  They have bad days.  They make mistakes.  They say, "I'm sorry."  They don't wear super capes although they are totally my hero.  

Each fantastic teacher does each of the above things in a way that is uniquely his or her own.  They don't subscribe to cookie cutter ideas about what great teaching should be or what a classroom should look like.  But the common thread among these teachers is the fact that students remember them - in a way that leaves a legacy that goes way beyond years in the classroom.

Who was that teacher for you?

A Letter to My 10-Year-Old Self

Soul Pancake is one of my favorite youtube channels.  I recently found a segment entitled "Talk to Your Ten Year Old Self" while browsing their collection of clips. That coupled with a recent visit with a former 5th grade classmate about nicknames were the catalysts for this letter.



Dear Jennifer,

How are you?  I am fine.   

Hee hee.  I remember that is always how you start your letters, right?  So I decided to do the same.  I wish we could have this conversation in person but since we can't, I am going to write it as if I am talking to you, okay?

So, you are 10 years old.  The whole double digits thing is kind of a big deal.  That means you have just finished up 4th grade with Miss Nelson and you are on your way to 5th grade with Mrs. Jensen. 

Hey, I know this year was rough.  Your mom and dad just got divorced.  That sucks.  And Miss Nelson was kind of mean to you.  And that was kind of hard.  But you know what?  It gets better.  Way better.  Mrs. Jensen is really nice and so is Mrs. Guffey.  They are kind and caring and will make you feel special in 5th grade.  Remember that. 

5th grade can be kind of tough with friends and stuff.  You will feel like every kid who is somebody will get his or her own cool nickname.  You may not have one and you may not be a dodgeball goddess.  But remember, you are smart and a good friend and you are loved.  And by the way, now that you are an adult, no one asks you what kind of dodgeball player you were in 5th grade.  Seriously.  And if they do, they are dumb. 

I'm not going to give you a bunch of advice because I know that you have to experience everything on your own and make your own decisions.  That is how you will grow and learn.  And you have a pretty amazing life so I wouldn't want to see you change anything!  I want you to instead focus on what you do well and keep doing it! 

First, you have TONS of supportive adults in your life who really, really care about you. Continue to seek out those caring people and spend time with them!  Some of them you haven't even met yet but when you do, you will know!  Right now, other than your mom and teachers, you have Father Ken, Grandma and Grandpa Ankeny, Grandma and Grandpa Skahill and your aunts and uncles.  They are always there to help you or just hang out, whenever you need it. 

Second, it's okay to feel however you are feeling. No one should ever tell you that your feelings are wrong.  Just remember you are strong and you can get through anything.  You just need to keep working hard and spending time with people who care.  You can get better at ANYTHING you want to - as long as you work hard.  This includes volleyball or running or science or piano.  Just work hard. Really, even science. 

Third, God loves you.  He loves you SO much.  There are going to be times when you don't feel like any man loves you.  Just remember that He does.  No matter what.  And He forgives you.  Everyone makes mistakes and you just need to fix them.  And truly be sorry.  And you will be.  Church is really boring, I know.  But pray to God and read the Bible and you will be pretty good.  Here is a verse to check out, okay?  Proverbs 3:  5-6.  Seriously.  This one is important. 

Fourth, be kind to your sister.  She deserves it.  Even when you don't think so. 

Fifth, you really aren't an animal person.  And that's okay.  Maybe skip getting the cat. 

Sixth, yes, Duran Duran is cool.  Cyndi Lauper, too.  With Air Supply and Boy George, the verdict is still out.  Maybe not so much. 

Seventh, you still love to blow the seeds out of milkweed pods.  You continue to delight watching them take flight.  Don't ever stop. 

Eighth, choose friends who are kind.  Choose friends who are kind.  Choose friends who are kind.  You deserve that, as does every human being.  It is not okay for others to treat you in a hurtful or demeaning way. 

Ninth, spelling is really not that important.  Yes, it's great that you can spell - it will save you some time from needing to look words up in the dictionary.  But get over Mrs. Focht pronouncing "mature" like "matour" - you only missed it on the pre-test. 

Tenth, keep reading.  All the time.  It grows your brain even more.  And keep listening to and loving music.  It grows your brain, too. And try new things, even if it is just one time.  That will also grow your brain.

Finally, all of your experiences (the sum) will shape who you become (the good, the bad and the ugly). And oh, by the way, I mean "ugly" figuratively not like literally.  While you may not love every minute of it, enjoy the ride.  It gets amazingly better every year. 

I love you. 

Hugs, 

Jennifer (your older self)

I am still figuring out how to be a Mom

I am finally beginning to feel in summer mode and with summer time, comes my "To Be Read" list.  One of the titles on that list is The Five Love Languages of Children by Chapman and Campbell.  The jury is still out for me on whether this whole love language thing is just a gimmick, but I have to say there are definitely some truths in it for our family.

The basic premise of the book, as I understand it, is that people enjoy and appreciate being shown love and affection in different ways.  Once a parent, partner or friend understands the other person's love language and uses it, communication will improve and so will the overall quality of the relationship.  What I found is that my oldest definitely has a primary Love Language:  Quality Time.  (Is it just me, or does it seem very silly to capitalize that?  Are those truly proper nouns?)

While Zane does have some preferential activities, in the end he is typically pretty happy when either Jason or I or both of us are spending time with him.  Hugs don't really matter as much to him.  Neither do gifts or lots of positive compliments.  He just wants to hang out with us.  Which is great, right?  Some of you know that Zane and I are very different in what we find "enjoyable" activities.  Although he does just want to be with me, it can be a challenge for us to find things to connect on.  Let me give some examples.  Z. likes building outhouses.  I enjoy indoor plumbing, free of sweat and urine on the seats.  Z. loves to build Legos and uses motors and all kinds of contraptions to design and create.  I once made one of those Cootie Catcher things pretty well, with a little help.   Z. thinks in pictures.  I think in words.  Z. likes to golf and ski and play basketball and football.  I love to cheer!  Anyway, you get the point.  Needless to say, my summer mode, still overly analytical brain has been thinking of ways to intentionally connect with Z. in a meaningful way via the whole Quality Time thing.

This past week two really great things happened.  The first was the opportunity to be the parent volunteer during Junior Golf League.  For those of you that really know me, putting this chic in charge of an electric golf cart is a bit scary. Thankfully, the boys are all in their second or third year and they were fairly helpful in assisting me in navigating the course.  (If we only remembered to put the flag back in!)  It was very humbling to watch our son in this role with his peer group and see what kind of kid he is.  I so admire his persistence and motivation.  Seriously, golfing for 3 hours at 7:30 in the morning?  Who does that?  For fun???  I was exhausted just watching the entire thing, particularly the amount of time looking for balls in the rough.  It was neat to see the kids help one another out - either by looking for balls or giving tips on improving their stroke.  Definitely, felt some Quality Time that morning.  And I didn't back over any kids with the golf cart - success!

The second cool thing that occurred was spending time with Zane learning about Minecraft.  There have been moments when I don't think I can bear one more word about Minecraft.  I have a friend who sets a timer and lets her son talk about the game for 5 minutes and they are done.  Love it!  However, on this particular day, I decided to really listen to Zane, ask him questions, have him show me his work and then have a conversation about it.  In the process, I learned some really great benefits of children playing Minecraft (yep!) and learned even more about my son, his strengths and how Quality Time makes a HUGE difference in our relationship.

One of most important points I have noticed about Minecraft from Day 1, whether talking about my students, my own children, or other people's children (ages 4 - 16!)  is how engaging it is.  As an educator, I think about the concepts of motivation, rigor and relevance and Minecraft has them all.  Here are some of the main points I learned about Minecraft through observing and talking with Zane:

• It teaches kids to be environmentally conscious.  If they cut down a tree, they use all the pieces and parts and they replant.  If they slaughter a sheep, they use all the pieces and parts (I don't really want to think too hard on that one) and grow some more sheep.
• It builds kids' vocabulary.  Some of the words mentioned during our conversation were spawn, hydraulics, dispensers, pistons, flint, jukebox (Mom, do you know what one of those are?), and redstone.
• It develops critical thinking skills and problem-solving abilities.  They design and build their own structures; survive by growing food and eating it, hunting, building shelter, making fire, navigating their way around zombies; and they learn from their mistakes and can go back and improve how they do it next time.

I asked Zane why he enjoys Minecraft and likes to play it daily.  His response said it all:  "Because it is challenging and interesting.  Every day I learn something new.  Today, I learned how to craft a dispenser and I remembered how to make pumpkin pie and cakes.  I remember by doing it."  Hmmm....that's a novel thought.  Some kids learn by doing?  No way!  (Insert smiley face). 

I could tell that Zane felt very loved and appreciated because I was asking him questions about something that interested him and I truly listened to what he was saying.  I felt more connected to him by doing this, too.  Amazing, huh?  This whole Love Language thing really works!  Genius!  Revolutionary!  Who knew that some kids really like adults listening to them and asking them questions about things they really enjoy?!?!

In the end, I also discovered some things about Zane and found that we actually have quite a few interests in common.   We both like to have meaningful conversations with one another (more than just small talk!).  We both love to be outdoors.  We both like being around people.  We both like to learn new things every day.  We both place high importance on family.  We both like to follow rules (even golf ones!).  And......drum roll.......we both LOVE Quality Time.  

Maybe next week, Zane can show me how to put a urinal in his outhouse.

40: The Big Investment

I have wanted to create a blog for a while now.    About six months and seven days to be exact.  In October of last year, I began the process by taking all the "right" steps to embark on my little journey:  I set a goal, created action steps, brainstormed ideas, developed a purpose and audience, researched other blogs, thought about it, blah, blah, blah.  And then like many wannabe writers, I came to a halt. I procrastinated. I stalled. I stopped. I thought about it some more.  And then I stalled some more.  And then I found excuses not to blog like being too busy, or feeling vulnerable or self-doubt or it's too much darned work.  

But then this cool little thing happened.  I had a conversation about hopes and dreams.  And goals.   It started with one of our district's elementary buildings and the work they are doing with hope building.  Then it carried over into a conversation with Jason about our hopes and dreams.   And life and what we choose to invest our time in, particularly now that I was approaching what my oldest son so affectionately refers to as "middle age."  Hmmmm.......that gave me the firm nudge that I oh so needed to get back to this whole idea of writing.  

And so here I am on the day I turn the big 4-0 with this inaugural post.  I am going to try to be true to my own self in this venture.  I am not going to call this thing a "journey."  I'm definitely not one of those sparkly contestants on The Bachelor, although I have been known to appreciate a good cheer routine.  For the time being, let's say my hope is to develop my insight through the writing process and learn and grow with anyone who chooses to read my writing.  More on topics to be covered in a subsequent post...right now, back to 4-0.

This morning I woke up and I found yet another conspicuous hair in one of those less than desirable locations that I needed to pluck.  As I was in the process of groaning about that, I noticed that my typical squinting wasn't working to see the miniscule thing well enough to grab it with my super-strength tweezers.  "Holy cow," I thought to myself, "do I now need bifocals?!?!"  That happens around this time, right?  Bifocals, extra hairs, belly fat, droopy eyelids.  What's next, menopause?  Wow.

These aren't the only age-related changes I have noticed lately. The other day I drove through Jimmy John's and the college-aged guy handed me my sandwich and in a super perky voice shouted, "Thanks, Ma'am!"  Wow again.  That took politeness to a whole new level.  He thinks I'm not only old but also deaf.  Do I really look that old?  I may technically be old enough to be the guy's mother but really,  I don't feel that old.

Age is just a number, right?  And with that number, I come back to my hopes and dreams and what I want to invest my time in.  Despite the hairs, the squinting and lagging metabolism, life really does get better every year.

A very good friend once gifted me the book The Girls From Ames and in it the author describes friendship and references the idea that if you are friends with someone by the time you are 40, you will most likely be friends with them for life.  Now that I am here,  I really get that.  

Being a mom and watching my kids grow and turn into the amazing little people they have become is an incredible gift.  Being married to one of the funniest people I know and the most incredible father is such a blessing.  Family is great.  I really get that.

Knowing my profession and how to advocate for kids and families by using my voice rather than remaining silent is my passion.  I really get that.

Searching for God and faith and what that all means in the big picture of life has come full circle.  I really get that.  

So tonight I end by coming back to that word invest, which means to involve or engage, especially emotionally  (Merriam-Webster Dictionary).  And as my 40th birthday comes to a close, these are the tangibles that I want to engage in and I really get:  friendship, family, my work, and my faith.  And with that, the big 4-0 is pretty grand.