Pema Chodron seems to be a good role model for this.  her work “Getting Unstuck” is profound in it’s content, but also in her sense of lightness and laughter in approaching some challenging work.

I spent this day in mourning.  For a relationship that ended badly.  And one that I saw end badly with lots of people, but thought that It Could Not Happen to Me.  I believed what I wanted to believe, and it served me for a while, and then it went south.  I think I was in the relationship out of fear.  Fear of having to do things that I was uncomfortable doing, and some that I was afraid of doing.  I used this person to protect me from the unknown, and that they did for a period of time.  They also cost me friends, heartache, loyalties, trust, confidence and compromised my leadership.  Totally conscious on my part to see those things slip away, and I could explain every one of them.
People told me this would happen, and I did not pay attention to the instability of this person, and ignored the warnings I had.
I guess I had an agenda, and on the negative side of that agenda, I must have been expecting to get kicked.  Since that’s what happened.  I got manipulated, and in the end, kicked.  And it hurt.  So much that my physical body is breaking down from the stress of it (and some other things, but this is a large piece of it).
If I knew at some point it would blow up, and I decided to trust/ defend/ partner anyway, I set myself up for this one.  What was my payoff?
To feel alone & abandoned, and abused.  I was vulnerable with this person, and they used my vulnerability against me in the end.  And to feel sad.  I seem to have an agenda to feel sad.  That is the feeling that keeps coming up.  Sadness.
My payoff is depression.  Anger turned inward.  Hurting my own self with blame, punishment, and judgment.  Am I looking for situations that will end this way?

The Journey

One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice –
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
“Mend my life!”
each voice cried.
But you didn’t stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do –
determined to save
the only life you could save.

-Mary Oliver

“and there was a new voice/which you slowly/recognized as your own.” GAH. those words. so amazing.

i originally wanted this post to be about that because it is those words i am aiming for — to hear and recognize and utilize my own voice both while speaking and writing, but then i realized i’m in a self-imposed writing break as i try to figure myself out, so this post can’t be about that.

then, it hit me.

those words are also relevant for college grads (yay, mina!) who are now finished with their degrees and are headed out into the big, bad world. they’ve spent four (or five or six or two) years researching and reading and listening and watching and living and learning and doing all with the goal in mind of finding their voice.  some may have discovered it, but can’t hear it over the reverberations of expectations. some may have figured it out years ago and followed it to this exact point. some may be afraid of it. some may be proud of it. some may think it’s in another language. some may be.

some may need more time. some may find it in writing, some in mathematics, some in motherhood, some in underwater basket weaving, some in athletics, some in more school, some in cooking, some in teaching, some in whittling, some in engineering, some in music, some in luxury, some in combat, some in foreign lands, some at home.

some may call it a conscience. some may call it attitude. some may call it confidence. some may call it id or ego. whatever it’s called and whatever it is and wherever and whenever you find it, i hope you embrace it. we can’t wait to hear you.

As I venture into a new chapter, I hadn’t realized that the Princess would be forced into a new one too. We’ve never lived more than an hour or so away from each other. Now we will be a few hours. To be together will take a bit more planning, which will depend on her schedule.

The old saying about giving your children roots and wings is true. I know I’ve done that with Amy. What she might not know is that she’s given me the same thing. She’s the one who stayed on my butt to finish that book, to laugh in the face of being rejected, who stood by when part of my life fell apart then came together. We faced trials and she was my oasis of stability. I did what I thought was best for her, and she returned the favor by dragging me to that first diving class.

A few years ago, she told me to go live my own life. She gave me my wings. Thank you, my daughter. I have spread them and love who I’ve become. (I don’t have to tell her that as she has led by example too.) There is one thing she may not fully comprehend is that wherever I shall roam, she will always have a home.

And a room waiting for her to land, whether a touch and go, or forever.

Picture from Google Images

Every childhood story involves wishes and fairy tales that were made inside the creative minds of those backpack-preschoolers. And as a toddler, I thought wishes never run out. Yet, they do…

Wish, as defined by childhood fragments, is a word I always use with the unnecessary things that I want; a word which I used more often than please; a word I utter with eyes closed and hands clasped; and a word that I never thought would fade as I grow up.

Now, picture this: Tears streaming down. Eyes red. Fetal position on the floor. Shivering from the cold of the experience. Those were the things enough to describe the situation I was at. Strong doesn’t seem to fit the picture. I was hopeless. I was broken. I was doomed.

Before your neurons send messages to your brain and imagine what happened to me, let me tell you that it wasn’t that deadly; it wasn’t that brutal; it was worse.

Being robbed with valuable material things plus physical pains might be dreadful, but being robbed with innocence is something, for me, so much more horrible.

This was the start of my college years: Red marks. Low equivalents. Zero participation. I don’t know what happened, all I know was that it happened in a blink of an eye. And before I knew it, my academic performance seems to be deteriorating. I reasoned out with my parents that Biology isn’t just my field and that I’d rather go with the course which includes creative writing, something I am passionate about. But my requests were ignored. And then came the harsh reality that life isn’t just as before.

With my grades at risk, I promised to study beyond my capacity and just accept that I just have to love my course. I did. I slept for almost two hours only and ate nothing but a slice of bread. Then exams came. With sweat trickling down my face, I nervously answered the tests, clinging to the fact that this is my last shot. But, unfortunately, I lost that last shot.

Hot tears welled up and I felt cheated. All the efforts geared to one goal was suddenly lost because I forgot what I studied. Know why? My shoes got broken just before the exam and I just pinned them with safety pins. I was so small in that moment. I felt that all eyes were staring at me. I cannot walk properly. I was like, dragging my other foot just so my shoes won’t come off from my feet. My heart was pounding, praying and hoping that it will stay until I reach my house. And my concentration centered to it.  During the tests, I was distracted by thoughts of what will happen to my shoes. The only lucky thing is that after the exam I could go home. And my prayers were answered. It did not come off until I got off from the jeepney. As I reached the gate, I took off the shoes and walked bare-footed towards the house. All I felt that time was shame.

Life seems to be giving me an important lesson that one whole day with a lot of experiences as if I’m such a hard-headed person. Because my misery didn’t stop there.

As I entered the house, relief swept over my entire being . At last I could tell my mom what happened because what I’m needing at that moment was just consolation that everything will be alright. But, I didn’t get it.

All I get? Well nothing, literally speaking. My tears were like, pouring, yet no one seems to notice it but the mirror. No one asked. No one even tried to look at me. Not even my mom. And so I imprisoned myself in my room, cried my eyes out with the blaring music as a background.

Wish, as defined in the dictionary, is a word which means something impossible. And as defined with these tiny fragments in my life, wish is a word I wanted to use badly  to get what I want, yet the literal meaning sinks in even deeper, making it out of my vocabulary at that moment.

I know that other people suffer more than this and don’t even bother to write an article with exaggerations about it. As a college student, as a middle child, as someone who undergoes physical and emotional stress almost everyday, I was vulnerable to all life has thrown at me. Yet, I couldn’t do otherwise but to accept the fact that change is constant in the adult era. Wishes don’t run out, they just have different meanings compared to when we were younger. And less often used too.

I have learned to get up with God’s guidance. Through thick and thin, I have learned to manage the wheel of my life. How to steer at every curve and when to use the brakes. After all, life is a journey that we have to travel. And the best journeys don’t have smooth roads.

Every childhood stories involves wishes. Every teenage stories also involves wishes. And even though I know life doesn’t work the way I thought it was, still one of my wishes was to rewind the days where I could use the word ‘wish’ and feel the hope whenever I use or hear it; days where I could be carried when my shoes got broken unexpectedly; days where I could still feel hopeful after a dreadful examination because no expectations were required; days where everybody wants to hear what I say; and days where I could close my eyes, clasped my hands and wish, with all hopes that it will come true, on a falling star.

“Indeed, in our hearts we felt the sentence of death. But this happened that we might not rely on ourselves but on God, who raises the dead.”

-2 Corinthians 1:9

Life is ever changing. True, it’s about the journey. Full of twists, turns, troubles, triumphs and transitions. As a part time perfectionist, I wish I could know all the small details of the storyline and its cast of characters. Just a snapshot, a little peak? No okay, fine be that way. I know Gods driving and I’m in the passenger seat, I trust Him, I just wanna know where we’re going and who’s invited to come along. Because just when I think I’ve got it figured out, we turn down another new and different road. I’m lost and found at the same time, all at once. part of the time I’m content in the present unknown, my curious and fragile heart just wonders when it should be lost and guarded, found and free.
When can I be done with questioning if someone’s trustworthy? When can I feel safe, protected and free with someone. I think I can now, but I’ve always been wrong before. So do you trust your repaired heart or that your past will most likely repeat itself? All I know is I don’t wanna be on repeat anymore, I wanna sing a new song. I want the fairytale. Get saved by a prince or save myself, either way I’m good. After all, keeping in line and in love with the King will help you find your prince.

“You don’t need to have it all figured out, just BE with me.”
-Jesus, The Shack

Who is this pretty young girl? Her huge whirlpool eyes look unhappily into the distance over the shoulder of the invisible photographer.

What lies in store? Will she find a sense of ease in her distance from home where she can find no peace of mind?

What a difference five plus years makes.  An independent woman gazes back straight at the camera, veiled from clear sight, yet those eyes are now self-assured and confident. Her face remains sombre due to regulations but is used to laughter and smiles not tantrums and tears.

The newly blank pages are not a sign of being less travelled (she who has travelled the globe) … more a sign of hope and freedom to move at will.

A passport reveals so much more than a right to your own identity.

I was furious and told her so in no uncertain terms:  ”You have enough children!”

I didn’t understand it then, but  I was really saying that I didn’t want to be a surrogate mother to a baby about whose arrival I had not even been consulted.  Of course, in my adolescent wisdom, I had no idea just how much I myself was gaining from being an older sister who, however great my ignorance may have been on any subject, was always less than those of my younger, lesser experienced siblings.  So I grew up with a self-confidence that was perhaps not always due solely to my superior abilities.

My mother did have her tenth child, of course, and though I at first refused to so much as change a diaper without sulking, I eventually discovered that I have a great deal in common with my youngest sister.  And among other things, we are agreed today that if one is going to be a member of a large family, being at the top or the bottom of the array is almost always less of a challenge than fighting for a separate identity as a squashed in-between.

So I am now most grateful that my mother did have her tenth child and that she is now my grown-up sister.

Thanks, Mom.  She really is a gift.  Just like you said.

Besides that, she’s arriving from America today for a ten-day visit.  So I’m taking a break from blogging.

People are good at giving explanations for their actions and especially for their wrong doings. They cheat, they lie, they take things that are not theirs, you name it, it has been done, and justification found for it. People don’t misbehave for no reason. Either they had a bad childhood, or they are in any other way underprivileged, or they are just irritated and stressed and regard this as a reason for doing something to hurt someone else. So in the end it is all a big judging cycle. The person who did something has justification for why he did it, the person who had to suffer because of it, also has justification as to why this was wrong. But what has all this to do with love and living in relationship with one anther? It really has nothing to do with it. There are no moral standards which apply for everyone. There is not a single explanations which justifies any sort of action in a way that the whole world agrees with it. People hear what they want to hear, and that means that you cannot make them understand your point if they don’t want to see it your way. Bottom line – there is no universal right or wrong. There just isn’t. Hence trying to explain ones actions will always result in misunderstandings, more pain and more hatred. It just does not work this way. The world was designed to fail if we try to separate ourselves from everyone else, by having moral standards by which we judge other people’s behaviors. They will judge back with their’s – it is a vicious cycle which we have accepted to be our reality. And as it is with vicious cycles, there is no end to it, and it is only getting worse the further we go into it.

Now that I understand that there is no right or wrong on this earth, that everything is just what it is, it is the reality – I also realise that being happy is the only other option there is

But what does being happy mean? For me right now it means, that I really don’t need to judge anything or anyone, it really does not matter. Every explanation give on this earth by anyone is worthless, because I can see it that way or I don’t, and it really does not matter. What matters is the HOW! How do I spend my time – do I spend my time judging, or do I spend it living? Do I spend it blaming other people for what they have done, or do I forgive. Do I love or do I judge. Do I wait for the right moment to come, or do I live like there was no better moment than the moment I am experiencing right now.

There is really nothing else we can do, but to approach everyone and every situation with love and with a sense of relationship. The minute we realise that our actions hurt ourselves more because we end up losing what we love and live separated from the rest of the world – we might understand that being happy might just really be what we always wanted.

https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?v=447028668722073&set=vb.209753919160720&type=2&theater

At the time I was working in a sports shop in the local shopping centre and was slowly starting to build myself and my confidence back up.  Through a colleague in the shop I was introduced to Mr B, we went on a few dates and spent hours on the phone getting to know each other and fell in love very quickly.  After 5 months together we decided we couldn’t be apart so we rented a flat and moved in together just before Christmas.  4 months later we decided to look for somewhere to buy and found a lovely flat that we both instantly fell in love with.  Soon after we got engaged and spent 3 wonderful years in our little flat.  We then moved to a bigger house, got married and started a family and I can honestly tell you the last 15 years have been a total whirlwind.

Mr B and I have been through a lot in our 15 year relationship.  There have been ups and downs, heartaches, highs, lows, family drama, loss, even a brief break up but we have a better relationship for it but most importantly there has been a lot of fun, love and laughter.  We have a great relationship mostly because we are friends and we both have the same stupid sense of humour and share a lot of interests but I think the main thing is that we spend quality time together.  It can be really difficult to get time as a couple when you work full time and have children, but we make a point of going out on a date at least once a month and just being us.

Mr B, you are awesome, supportive, kind, caring, loving but most of all you are mine.  You changed my life for the better and that lonely, gawky, shy awkward girl has gone forever and instead I am a wife and a Mum. Love you now and always Markie B.

Cx

One of our first dates

At a party in 1999

There are no words 2003

Another turning point, a fork stuck in the road. 2004

One of my favourite photos of all time! 2008

Anniversary night out 2012

The first thing everyone we’ve shown these pictures to has said is that he’s so grown up. Granted he is nine months old so no longer a small baby (this doesn’t stop me saying “look, a newborn baby!” to Stuart while I rock our giant lump of miniman) but I think the dungarees and him sitting up like that really turn him from big baby to toddler boy. And he really is starting to toddle.

I realised a month or two back that I was mourning what I call an almost loss. I felt confused about my baby. I had just stopped breastfeeding him suddenly and it is something I am still a bit unhappy about. I tell people I did it purely to get him to sleep better (and I did, and it worked) but I don’t tell them that the way it ended hurt because of it’s abruptness, and that now the finality of that is a bitter pill to swallow. Nonetheless it happened. However it was around that time that I felt as though the Sandy I had each day, the Sandy who I rocked to sleep and carried in the sling and played with on the floor, wasn’t the same Sandy who I had met in a haze of exhaustion and elation at 12:25 on the 2nd of August last year. It was as if he was a different baby. I mean, I knew he was Sandy, but he seemed to have become someone else, or more correctly, he had become someone. And it’s hard to accept that the floppy little newborn who is more you than themselves has evolved into a separate entity, who doesn’t need you quite as much. So it was an almost loss, and I grieved it, however silly that may sound.

I loved my newborn Sandy and it took a few weeks to get over the fact that he would never be that tiny scrap again. And he would never look like a wrinkled old grampa or be drowned by the smallest clothes in the world.

Recently though that feeling has been disintegrating and the pain of that almost loss has been crumbling away bit by bit. And in the vacuum left which that loss once filled, is love. A new love for this new person. This person who is created from my own flesh and blood yet isn’t me, and isn’t Stuart, and isn’t like a single other person to exist.

This person who calls me mama, and crawls to his mama arms out to be picked up. This person who lays his head on me in a show of all encompassing acceptance of which I have only experienced once before in my life.

This person who laughs at in-jokes and has favourite things. Who calls balls his babas and gasps joyfully at his kitties, trying to grab but learning to stroke them.

This person who wants to be big, not small. Who spends every moment of his existence trying to get to the same level as those around him, drinking from my cup, standing to my height.

A small boy who is part of a family who needed him so much.

I recently remembered reading an advice post on a website about what to expect when having a baby and someone had said not to expect to really enjoy the first year. At the time I thought how insane that was, not to enjoy that first year of your tiny baby’s life. But I understand it. It’s not that I haven’t enjoyed it; I truly have and for all it’s difficulties I wouldn’t change it. But it’s only now that Sandy is coming to me, that he is showing himself in all his unique and perfect beauty.

He is himself, original, unique. He is starstuff. He is golden. He’s my love, my Sandy.

Someone must have just asked her this question.

Okay, I have to admit there was that moment of “Oh my gosh, I knew there was something I forgot!” And then the following moment of “Oh my gosh, all the good parents have curfews for their children!” And then the culminating few seconds of, “I failed miserably as a parent!”

Then I snapped back to reality. And answered the kid who was doing non-stop school work.  With a rhetorical, “Why? Do you need one?”

No. She did not have a curfew. Even if the town did! Because every situation, every outing really depended on who she was going to be with, what they were doing, and where they were going to be. That was the important thing to us. Simple as that. We decided on a case by case basis.

Every kid is different. Rory didn’t need a curfew in high school.  And that was our decision as parents. Did not matter what other kids or parents were doing.

Believe me, we have made plenty of parenting mistakes. That just wasn’t one of them.

The reason I remembered this today was because I was with a group of parents. Most of whom had eighth graders heading to high school. There were questions.

One was, “What age do they date?”

And the answer is this. When you allow them.

There is a whole lot of information that needs to be examined. Your personal views on dating. Your views as a family. What does “dating” even mean? Does it mean they “like” each other from across the lunch room?

And then you make the best decision for your child. You try to be flexible. But you listen to your gut. What leaves you comfortable. No caving in to adult peer pressure. Or to the whining of your child due to their own peer pressure.

Does not matter if the issue is curfew or dating. Applies to any decision we make for our children. We are the parents.

We all make mistakes. But if we really listen to our guts then we just might make fewer.

Lately I have been really thankful for the friends that I presently have in my life. In the last couple of years I have had to part ways with someone who was a close friend. There comes a point when a relationship is toxic that ways must be parted. The last year has had its hard moments, and I thought about her quite a bit, beings that we had know each other since we were in Middle School/Junior High and had been friends since high school. There came a point when it came to an end. I feel, that it really is over, and that life goes on. I am not going to live in the past, and of what could have been. What is, now, is that we each have our own lives and are not a part of the others. I now have more time to be there for the people who actually are there for me, care about me, and I actually have more in common with on a deeper and more meaningful level. I’d honestly have a few good friends who love me for who I am, support me in my pursuits of my dreams and goals, and don’t think I’m crazy for having them. With these friends, we have hashed out the world, and can understand where I am coming from, even if they don’t agree, they hear me out. None of us are perfect, but I’d rather have a few good friends than to be “popular”. 

Over the course of the last few years, as I have changed, as with that change so have my dreams, goals and friends. I wouldn’t changed my friends for anything, and I am thankful for the friends I have in my life. These past few years have brought change and growing experiences and for that I am grateful. I couldn’t have done it on my own, and without my faith and values. I don’t know what the next year has in store for me, but I want to take it as it comes, and not hide in a corner avoiding anything new, different or challenging. Challenges are meant to be overcome and learned from, and it is how we gain life experiences. 

To each of you who reads my blog posts, I thank you for getting to the end of each post, and bearing with me. 

Her mother’s sister, Lucy, is a vegetarian who tried to influence her to give up her omnivorous diet. But her aunt Lucy wasn’t able to sway her; she loves meat too much not to waver. She argues that giving up meat means giving up all her favourite chicken alfredo and bacon strips. She exaggeratedly points out that she should’ve been born a giraffe or a cow if her diet would only consist of leaves, grass, vegetables and fruits. She is conscious of her health and maintains a balanced diet because she wants to have a fit mind and body, necessary for her to carry out her goals.

She regularly exercises and engages in sports. Swimming is actually her preferred sport. It strengthens her respiratory system, she says, so she’ll still be alive and kicking, healthy as a horse, when she’s eighty years old.

Ever since her godfather, a criminal lawyer who she looks up to, bought her a dictionary, the book has never left her side. You can say she’s a walking dictionary as well. She reads a lot; her book choices ranges from epic fantasy, paranormal, suspense, mystery, self-help, and to biographies of people who changed the world. She joins her school’s Public Speaking Club to help her be articulate in expressing a series of thoughts logically. She believes that the club will prepare her for her future, her dream to become a top caliber lawyer at the age of 32.

Her godfather inculcated in her young mind that life is what one makes it, that one’s future is the outcome of one’s choices at present, one’s current actions dictate the kind of future one will get.

On the eve of her 16^th birthday, her crush since 6^th grade, who happens to be her current seatmate in history, finally asks her out on a date. Adel thinks that her life is going pretty well with how and what she planned it. She is thrilled for her future now that things are going as she mapped them out to be, and her goals are set in motion. She believes that she’ll have her first boyfriend by the time she turns 16, exactly how she planned it.

Adel,  at a young age has been doing things to prepare for her future, to make her future happen But what Adel, and her godfather, hasn’t taken into account is the role of destiny, or fate, or whatever it’s called, that is controlled by a higher being somewhere out there. There are just some things that are out of control, like calamities (may it be nature or manmade), and/or accidents; these things are bound to happen somewhere, someway, somehow, sometime and its worse when one is caught in the middle of it.

You see, Adel, the awesome girl with SMART goals, never made it to her 16^th birthday. She didn’t even get to experience the date, because on her way to their rendezvous, as Adel rides her bicycle, she was hit by speeding SUV driven by a driver under the influence of alcohol. By the time she was brought to the hospital, the doctors proclaimed her DOA.

One may think though, “If Adel turned down the boy and didn’t go to the date, she would still be alive now and could still go through her plans.” If that was the case, then Adel wouldn’t be able to achieve her first goal when she turns 16. Given her personality, she’s not the type of person who’s open to changes.

I’m not saying that one shouldn’t make plans or something. My point is that this is life – this is the unpredictable life. One’s preparations to carry out one’s plans may be in vain because shit happens at some point. One would be lucky and blessed enough if one survives the “shitty-ness” without much scratch and can go on with one’s original plans, or perhaps go on with the contingency plan of the contingency plan.

The only thing that’s certain is that tomorrow is uncertain. One never knows that tomorrow is one’s last tomorrow, or that tomorrow may never come. The certainty of uncertainty is what’s certain.

This entry has a dark note to it-I’ve never been much to open up about what makes me blue. But, here I am, typing at 3am from my phone after coming back from a night out, brainstorming about how life is slowly stepping on the back of my feet as I try to keep up.

We make decisions that we feel will help us achieve our long term goals. We pack up–we master the talent of putting our lives into boxes and making them absolutely mobile–, seal, and ship our belongings to a new place in hope of better days. We often do so, however, knowing that there will always be something there waiting for when we come back. A place, family, friends. All there for the day we decide to stroll back and reconnect, feel whole again.

That’s our first mistake: Nothing absolutely waits. That place loses its prime, family grows old, friends change as do we. Friends, that ultimate connection of the family we choose can sometimes become the biggest strangers. As we grow older and mature, we retain the blissful memory of our friends in fresher days. We expect their laughs, their sudden humor, their willingness to stick through the storm. But we forget that they grow older and they too mature, sometimes not in the same ways we do.

“People change,” they say. But it’s an ever so dangerous phrase when talking about the people we choose to love. Because we love those who change. Because it is hard to admit that, although love is there, the changes have caused a drift that is hard to ignore. Maybe it’s temporary, who knows, but as of the moment it is there, it is latent, and it won’t let you go.

When is the moment when we decide it’s time to part separate ways until a better day? I look now at my best friend and realize that, although he might not see the differences arising, something has changed. I feel–not only for the friendship slowly folding–but for the possibility of him hurting once we begin to drift if only for a while. I feel somewhat cheated by life as we grow up and apart, and this friendship becomes threatened, once that was meant to last forever.

I’ve come back from this place I took a risk for expecting the return of those memories. But I came back to life carrying on, deciding to take another course perhaps changing me, him, or both. It’s a lonely place. Maybe this is why my elder grabbed hold of me and always said with regretful eyes, “hold on to your youth, there will never be anything like it.”

What I learned in high school is that life will not turn out the way you want. Despite how easy it seems to just run away from conflict, part of growing up is learning to try harder to do what you have to do. When I first started high school, I did not know how to solve my conflicts myself so I thought that the only solution was to run away from my problems. In softball, I faced a lot of pressure and bullying from my teammates and my confidence plummeted. I felt scared and stressed when I went to practice and even my relationship with my dad got worse because I felt him forcing me to be like all of the other “moke” softball girls rather than myself. My situation did not seem to get any better and I thought that the best solution was to quit softball. Even though my teammates made softball feel like a living hell for me, softball was still my passion and gave me a rush every time I got a hit or I made a great catch. I was too scared to fix my own problems that I let a bunch of mean girls make me quit something that I love.
Once I quit softball, giving up seemed to be the answers to all of my problems. In an instant, I was able to escape from my problems without confronting anyone. I would easily give up whenever things got a little rough. I quit digital media club when it brought on too much work and stress and I quit being president for my business class when I felt that my mock company was going nowhere and my classmates hated me because of it. My life became all about doing what made me happy and avoiding life challenges. I thought that I was on the right track with this philosophy because my life seemed to be going great. When I quit softball, I was able to do judo, which I loved because it was so fun and I never had a stressful moment there. I also had a lot more time for friends because I did not have softball taking up my entire schedule.
As my senioritis kicked in, I wanted to quit the senior project. I saw that a lot of my friends were quitting because they did not see the point in doing it. I could not help but agree with them because colleges do not seem to care about senior project and I did not care about having a gold sash at graduation. However, quitting was a much bigger deal than that. I had made a commitment to do the senior project and my parents would keep saying “Sam did the senior project so you can too.” After a couple mental breakdowns and a few lectures, I ended up sticking with the senior project. It was not easy because finishing and ensuring that I pass required a lot of long stressful nights and making the time to practice my presentation with teachers. I had to work harder than I have ever worked before, but I ended up passing on the first try with a pretty decent score.
Although it seems so easy to just run away from my conflicts, I learned that life is not about giving up so easily. Perhaps quitting softball was the right thing to do because I found a passion in judo, but I should have at least explain to my teammates why I left. Maybe if I had just spoken up then those bullies would be nicer to the girls who stayed. By running away, I let them win and they continued to act the same. I may have been up against a lot of conflicts, but life is filled with them so the best thing to do is just face it. Rather than running away to make my life better, I learned that I can persevere to create my own happiness.

I’ve been struggling lately with allowing myself to let go of the control over my future. I fully believe in the idea that, as humans, we are meant to take things one step at a time. If we get too caught up with planning, we’ll go crazy, and not the good kind.

I’m worried about myself, about my friends, and yet, I find many of them are not worried themselves, and that’s because they know that they can only take each moment as it comes, and I must learn to do the same. I have never been one to just take it as it comes; I like to plan, but things have changed, and control has shifted over to another. I have found that God is pretty good at taking control, and I shouldn’t have to feel ashamed of saying that. Not that anyone in particular makes me feel ashamed, but sometimes when I want to mention God, I find myself backspacing, trying so hard to accommodate those who would disagree, but just because some may disagree doesn’t mean that they will stop reading or that they will not listen. By not saying what is on my mind, I’m very indirectly insulting those who are out there, assuming that just because they may have a different belief system they will shun me and never talk to me again or they might hate me or judge me. By doing this very thing and not expressing myself and my beliefs, I am judging others regarding how they could potentially judge me. You see? I know we all think differently, and we can’t force our own beliefs on each other, but I must express my own, with hopes that others might hear me, might listen to me, and if they don’t, they do not have to continue, but it is not my place to say absolutely that they won’t continue reading and that they would not be willing to see what I have to say. So, I will not hold back, as I know that there are many out there who love to read and gain perspective, just as I do.

The future is bright, whether darkness seeps in or not. Of course, at this point, it’s easy for me to say, look! The future is bright, with many opportunities! But that’s because I have yet to be discouraged or rejected or forgotten. Soon, I’ll have to make changes and decisions; I’ll have to make important moves or dangerous ones (regarding my career). I’ll have to spend much time on things that I love and invest in things that may be the difficult side of the things that I love. I may not be given much attention or credit for what I do, and that may hurt, and I may want to quit. Things in the future are things of strangers. My future self is a stranger to me; I have no idea what I’ll be feeling specifically in a day or two or a few years. Things inside of my soul will be different, hopefully for the better, hopefully I’ll be richer in spirit, more wholesome in my value of life.

I pray to God that I am taken down a path of strengthening courage, sacrifice, and knowledge. I want wisdom, and I want to carry on good deeds toward others, and I want to give back all that I am given. I want much to be expected of me, and I want to fulfill those expectations. I want to live by the standards of God, and not by the standards of the earth, as they are tangible and temporary. I want myself to be molded and cradled in a way that I am able to bring others with me along the journey. I truly want my life to become a journey of wellness, healing, and desire for Heaven, for God himself, which I surprisingly find difficult sometimes.

The desire to be in Heaven seems different than the desire for God. Sometimes, I find myself desiring the eternal life rather than the presence of God himself, and so I must think this over and realize that God is eternal, and life comes from his very breath. I want God, but I want that desire to grow each day, as that is what will bring me closer, step by step, to the destination he has called me to.

So, I am now on a new path, one that is confusing. I can’t tell which way the signs are pointing, and the signs I can see are a little blurry. I see a city in the far distance, horns honking, sirens wailing, and I think I can hear my name, but I’m not sure if that’s a different Haley it’s calling for. In the distance, I can see a large mountain and hills below it, large pines growing by the dozen, and I think I can hear the wind whispering my name, but once again, I take a second listen, and all I hear is the mountain storm approaching. Further, I see many neighborhood rooftops, children are singing and playing, and I thought I heard them spelling my name during jump rope, but that could have just been a mother calling her child to come inside for dinner.

You see? I’m confused, but what’s better about that is I’m okay with it. I’m becoming okay with it. Things will be okay, all in patience. God is good. I’m off to bed.

I shall post more work soon. Goodnight, and dream about lovely potential.

-HR

“Patience” by Kay Ryan

Patience is

wider than one

once envisioned,

with ribbons

of rivers

and distant

ranges and

tasks undertaken

and finished

with modest

relish by

natives in their

native dress.

Who would

have guessed

it possible

that waiting

is sustainable—

a place with

its own harvests.

Or that in

time’s fullness

the diamonds

of patience

couldn’t be

distinguished

from the genuine

in brilliance

or hardness. 

Sometimes though, I find myself with a group of people who were all in the right place at the right time. At that moment in time I am known to be unstoppable.

I have yet to learn how to acquire this feeling alone. Without an army by my side, but I am trying.

Every so often, I yearn for those days and nights where I actually felt my self worth.

Those nights, as a kid, where I would be up all night just talking on the phone with my two best friends a the time. Where there were no complexities in life just yet. Where my biggest problem was waking up to go to school every single day. What we talked about, I have no idea. I do know that we were all a little bit weird and belonged together.

Growing up a bit more we learned about some of the hardships of life, I, found like minded people who would chase away such problems with alcohol and such. during that time I encountered another person, who was not only as weird as I was, but just as crazy. Our story goes into great detail, and I will add individual stories when the time comes, but with this girl by my side, I felt unstoppable, and I was. I still am, I just get a little lost sometimes.

Not too long after that I found this place, where all the misfits went. The ones who couldn’t stand to be home and had nowhere else to go. We were all losers, with hardly any friends or any desire to sleep. We had no hobbies in common, but I have grown used to that, and it didn’t matter. We were all different people, from different backgrounds, different upbringings, and so much more. There was a lot of drama, tears, and love, though this group doesn’t really exist anymore, I would give anything to be able to enjoy a night outside during the summer, waiting for the sun to come up while pouring out our hearts to each other.

I want to watch the sun come up and talk about dreams, and fears, past stores that still haunt our minds, religion, society and everything in between, or even have the option to sit in silence and have it not be awkward.

I wonder if this is just how life is.

Sandra Cisneros, “Eleven”

Back to studying!

Then it hit me. I got sick. Getting sick is not the same thing for me now as it was when I was a kid. As a kid, getting sick meant I could stay home and watch 7th Heaven all day long. Now, getting sick means that I can’t concentrate as well, I can’t run around as much, I’m sniffling and hacking and exhausted. Not going to work or school means falling behind, it means I can’t keep my commitments and I’ll have to do even more when I’m back.

This is not what I wanted, I had a plan! Each hour of my day for the next two weeks was scheduled – “take it easy” and “stay home from work” were not on the schedule. I went out and bought basically every cold/flu product from the drugstore, hoping to find that miracle remedy that would cure me in 20 minutes. (Spoiler alert: I didn’t find it.)

I reacted the way I always do when things don’t go my way, I was pissed. I always get pissed whenever I get sick because its not what I had planned. I move too slow when I’m sick. There is so much I want to do, but there’s only so much that I can do. Reluctantly, I took a day off work (my supervisor asked me to promise that I would try to rest and get better, since she knows I have no boundaries) and I called to request postponements for two of my master’s-level exams.

Suddenly, a relief fell over me. It was like I could breathe again and I thought to myself, “What’s the rush anyway?” I’m beginning my MBA and it’s a 2-year program if you attend full-time, longer if you attend part-time. Of course, being the overachiever that I am, I planned to complete the program in 1 1/2 years while still working full-time. Why? I don’t know, because everything I do Has. To. Be. Right. Now.

Getting sick was a blessing in disguise. It woke me back up to the fact that I can slow down, I can take my time, and enjoy the process. I’m 23 years-old. I didn’t need my MBA 2 years ago. I don’t need it in one year. I have a job I love, where I’m given the opportunity to grow, be challenged, and pursue more educational goals. My MBA is going to come to me either way. When I’m 24 or 26, what’s the difference? Taking care of myself is important and I need to listen to my body when it tells me to stop, slow down.

Also, letting go of the notion that my life has to be the way I imagined it and planned it, that’s pretty liberating too.

Here’s a heads up: No one at work really wants you to be there if you’re sick either. Don’t take it personally. Just go home.

Related articles

• Sickness on the road (greeneyesgypsysoul.wordpress.com)
• How to Sleep When You Are Sick (plushbeds.com)
• A Flu Prevention Guide for the Workplace (staples.com)

Graduating high school means what? It means that im going to be completely on my own doing pretty everything without my parents always being right there helping me through it all. Honestly, i dont think im ready for any of it.

Most people say that your junior year is the hardest year in high school simply because your almost a senior and of course your work gets harder. Thats what im scared about. Im already nervous just thinking about everything my junior year will hold and everyone talking about it being the hardest year is not helping the matter. Ive always been a pretty smart student and i plan for it or it to stay that way until im completely out of school. But needless to say, i am ready for the challenge of being a junior!

Rocket Garden

This blog is Part 1 of a 3-part blog on NASA and Kennedy Space Center from my road trip down south.

Part of this epic road trip was about reliving things from my past through now adult eyes and a more educated mind. It was about getting back to the things that made me who I am and finding happiness again. My sister and I while growing up, had the good fortune to have parents that were financially able to take us on vacations even though they were not incredibly extravagant often. My mom and dad valued these trips as a way of both connecting with us as a family by sharing travel experiences together while also knowing that it would help us learn more about the world and see other places that others may not and we may never see again. These trips had a great effect on my life from an early age and planted the seeds of travel and adventure in my mind and heart. It is something I think is important for every family even if it is not out of the state or out of the country. I have talked about my love for great road trips on this blog before.

On one of our 2 trips to Florida when I was younger we went to Kennedy Space Center, I was 8 at the time. Then I loved everything space and wanted to be an astronaut. Those aspirations died a few years later when I developed a hatred of math BUT my love of space and NASA has continued as an adult. I remember how big everything seemed how massive the rockets in the rocket garden looked. I remember going on a tour and seeing from great distances the building known as the Vehicle Assembly Building (VAB) and the 2 launch pads (39A and 39B) used to launch the space shuttles into space which was also the site where the Apollo rockets were launched from. As a kid, the men and women who went into space and walked on the moon were my hero’s NOT movie stars and athletes. Anyone can be a star athlete if they want to be and are willing to put in the effort and training but few ever go to space. They are the elite and on the level of the explorers, scientists and thinkers such as Sir Edmond Hillary, DaVinci and Kepler forget about Kobe, Jordan and Lebron.

Actual suit worn by Neil Armstrong

Astronaut memorial

When I was younger and at KSC, I thought everything was cool and knew something’s about what I was seeing such as the Apollo, Mercury and Gemini Programs, I knew about them not the details. I was enamored with everything huge and just being there blew my mind. At that point, in time, I was not able to truly understand the significance of what I was seeing and some of the exhibits I ignored or just did not get. Since then I learned the history and science of some the things I saw back then, the facts and the stories. This time around I think I damn near read every word written on everything. On this trip, I learned even more than what I already knew. As well as experience things, I was not able too before or did not care to.

Challenger mission match from its fatal and final mission in 1986

I was in the 1^st grade when the Challenger exploded I watched a video in class that my first grade teacher took (with VHS) while she was there on vacation. I was an adult when the Columbia exploded over Texas and both tragedies hit me hard and stuck with me. It made me appreciate the danger of space exploration even though I did not completely understand it at 8 years old. Seeing those memorials and hearing the stories about them this time around were more emotional than I thought it would be. I am old enough, smart enough and wise enough to grasp the sacrifice those men and women made.

It should have made my entire generation understand the dangers of space and appreciate what the astronauts do; however mundane and un-exciting it may seem. For my parents Apollo 1 represented those dangers. That was a mission in which three great men died in capsule on training exercise at KSC (one of who is named Roger B Chafee and is from my hometown). Then also, Apollo 13 a mission that Tom Hanks made a movie about that I think opened some eyes including my own.   For that generation though with the deaths and narrow escapes it did not stop them and they pushed forward with space and the future. For mine though it sadly scared the hell out of many and caused the end of the Shuttle Program something I firmly believe was vastly underused.

A little hometown connection. This is the actual western union letter….yes they used to do more than send money

Apollo 11 landed on the moon, Neil Armstrong was the first man to step on it and most people from my generation and younger ones don’t realize the only reason we were able to land on the moon was because of what they learned, practiced and tested on Apollo missions 1-10. Those missions were a learning process that took time, planning and courage. They were not always exciting, but it had to be done.  Every mission was a step closer to the ultimate goal.

The things I saw, touched, heard and read this time around at KSC as a grown up which made the entirety of the US Space program possible, the doors it opened and the discoveries made that we take for granted everyday blew my mind.  The people who died while trying to get into or home from space made things like cell phones, medicine, surgeries, safer flying airplanes and thousands and thousands of others things we use every day possible. Something I will link to on the next part of this blog. One old man there, a retired NASA worker who was with his grand kids on our tour told me while we had a cigarette that, “Innovation, and adventure don’t happen by chance young man. It happens by people having the courage to do really scary shit and keep doing really scary shit no matter how scary it is”. After talking to him for a bit, he was part of the crew who put the shuttles together before flights in VAB in the 1990’s and was a really great guy.

This mini road trip in May was made possible by my mom just as the first trip there was when I was 8 years old.  It was her idea to go there together while I was in Florida on vacation during my road trip so we could relive something we did in OUR youths now as adults and equals with a mutual interest.  It was a great learning experience once again and an amazing bonding experience for my mom and I. It was this or Key West for 3 days and I am glad we took this trip to Kennedy Space Center together. It is another one of those trips we took which I will always remember as I get older and older.

Me in front of a Saturn 1 rocket

My mom In front of the same rocket

I used to think that we were to emulate adults – the 20-years-your-senior kind: they’re experienced, they’ve already learned from their mistakes, they can teach us. But the more time I spend around adults nowadays – for work, social events, mom’s prayer group-  the more I’m surprised by how little they can help us.

Here are a few examples…

1. Awkward Encounter

I used to attend church regularly. Everyone recognized me as the girl who could recite Bible verses or share what was taught in Sunday school. Of course, this praise came from the adults in the   congregation. I was well acquainted with each of them – it was a small church. By name, I could greet them on the streets, in the store, on my way to the bus – sporadic occasions. But Mom began exploring her faith options, and we stopped attending that particular church. I never expected the relationship to be the same with those church members from then till now, but I never imagined that they would pretend that they don’t remember me all together. One such adult is a bill collector. I didn’t go in to work one day, so I was at home watching TV. The knock came at the door, and I recognized said bill collector, and greeted him by name. The conversation continued something like this. I’ll call him Mr. X.

Mr. X: “Oh yeah. Claudia. Right. From church, yeah?

Me: “Yeah.”

Mr. X”: “Long time! Long time!”

Me: “Yup.”

Mr. X: “Is your mom at home?”

Me: “No, she has a meeting and will be back late.”

Mr. X: “Okay. Well, let her know I stopped by. You’ll remember to tell her?”

Me: “Yeah, sure, Mr. X.”

Mr. X: “Tell her it’s the man for the bill,” and he flashes his name tag in my face. “She’ll know who it is.”

Adults, either you remember someone or you don’t. No one is expecting you to have an archive in your brain. So why carry on acting like you’re trying to re-connect when you don’t have any interest to do so? I’m definitely not gung-ho to re-connect, so let’s be adults, confess that we don’t remember a name or a face and say what we need to say. Mr. X, for all his weirdness, seemed to have some memory of me because his instructions sounded like they were conferred upon that same little girl in church.

2. The Mission to Convince

“To each his own.” This is one of my mom’s favourite lines whenever she’s at an impasse in some conversation. In those four words, you respect someone’s opinions, their likes/dislikes, without the obligation of becoming friends, or internalizing their views.  We’re different! You like beers, I like lagers. You’re a Manchester fan, I’m a Liverpool girl. It frustrates me when an adult is forcing an opinion or a choice onto someone.

I was watching TV (I tend to do that a lot), when a movie preview aired. It was funny. I like to laugh, so I recommended aloud that it was one worth seeing. The adult, Miss Y, for some reason got defensive and shut me down. Later that evening during her “TV time,” a movie preview aired that she favoured, and she turned to me to ask what I thought. I said I didn’t understand it, and then came Miss Y’s “Mission to Convince Claudia.”

Step 1: Turn up the volume.

Step 2: Exclaim, “this is great! this is great!” after only 10 seconds.

Step 3: Laugh boisterously.

Step 4: Make sure Claudia is looking. “Are you seeing this?”

Step 5: Exclaim some more.

Step 6: Repeat “I like it. What don’t you like?”

Give it a rest! I said I didn’t understand it, Miss Y. Why can’t you be an adult and respect my opinion?  I don’t think I’m asking for much. Rather, this seems like a basic part of human dialogue – give and take.

Adults, how can changing someone’s mind benefit you? Where’s the gratification? Your only accomplishment is our distancing ourselves from you. If we can’t express our opinion without you considering it inferior we will never be able to make just comparisons between our generations in order to  apply those lessons in our lives.

3. Outcast

I have four older sisters, one older brother. My sisters are my surrogate moms, my brother, my surrogate dad. So, I’m surrounded by parents. As is common in most homes, when parents have conversations, they do so in hushed tones away from the kids. You find them at the back door, turning away just as you step into the kitchen for a banana. Or you’ve been in your room all evening, and you take a bathroom break to find everyone sitting around the dinner table conference-style.

The older I got, the more I asserted that these conversations need my input. But like the kids at school, my family found everyone phrase, joke, or insult to exclude me. So I’d like to share some. (English translation beside each).

“Yoo noh need fi hya dis. Yo tu yung yet.” (You don’t need to know this. You’re still too young)

“Yoo noh know wat yoo di seh.” (You don’t know what you’re saying)

“Gyal, yoo di seh wah hole latta nutting.” (Girl, you’re making no sense)

“Wen yoo gaan tru wat I gaan tru, den cohn taak tu mi.” (When you’ve been through what I ‘ve been through, then come talk to me)

These adults dismissed a potentially beneficial piece of advice just because it’s coming from someone younger. I wouldn’t like to say I spend all my time daydreaming, but I do think a lot, so logic is dominant in my mind. Logic triumphs when emotions fail. We can’t run around on feelings all day long. But because I’m younger, I’m single, and don’t have any kids, I can’t comprehend the complexities of some situations. Fair enough, but give me a chance to speak! How can young people ever prove to be growing into respectable, astute, articulate adults when our practice time is so restricted?

A few more problems I have with adults:

• Not bidding the time of the day. Where have their manners gone?
• Males: not offering a female his seat on the bus.
• Employers not granting a job because we don’t have “experience.” At that rate, we’ll never get j0bs because we’ll never get experience.
• Criticizing attire – fashion changes.
• Leaving instructions on how a task is to be done, but still checking in every five seconds. Trust us!

THANK YOU TO THE ADULTS WHO MAKE MY DAY LESS SKEPTICAL!

No one prepared me for real life.

No one prepared me for cubicles and overtime and moving back into my childhood bedroom.  No one prepared me for hangovers and yuppie bars and bridal showers and babies.  I just woke up one day, and there I was: 24 years old, sitting in an 8-by-8 cubicle with a terrible hangover, looking forward to Deep South Ghost Hunters on Saturday night.  Seriously?  How does this happen?

I don’t really know how people judge the success of a 24-year-old these days, but I’m pretty sure I’m not the barometer.  Watching Jeopardy on a Friday night with a wheel of Brie in your parents’ living room doesn’t exactly scream “success.”  When the highlight of your weekend is curling up in a Snuggie to catch up on three hours of Dance Moms re-runs, then it’s obvious that your life is not exactly on the up and up.

This isn’t how I expected to spend my twenties, either – watching Law & Order: SVU marathons with a quarter-pound veggie burger in my greedy paws.  No way!  I was eager for my twenties – eager for what everyone promised would be the best, most exciting years of my life.

Back in college, I pictured myself living in Europe or road-tripping across the U.S. or joining the Peace Corps.  I thought I’d be making bank and bar-hopping every weekend and considered cool.  In reality, I live at home, I eat cheese on Friday nights, my younger cousins think I’m old, and more than three drinks in one evening will put me on the bathroom floor with my phone in the toilet.

I feel like life is trying to catapult me from 22 to 45 years old in the blink of an eye.  What happened to the years I was promised – those free-wheeling, crazy days of gluttonous fun and Roaring Twenties-esque frivolity?  These awkward, transitional years feel nothing like that.  Now I find myself wondering what LMFAO is talking about in their latest song and when I’ll stop feeling so confused all the time.

The best part about growing up is not doing it, and most weekends, I’m still ready to party like it’s 1999.    But is this now, for some absurd and unfounded reason, considered “wild” or “immature”?  What if life as a 24-year-old is supposed to be startlingly similar to life at 45?  What if this is it?  Do I have to spend the rest of my years getting excited about wooden cutting boards and gift cards to Crate & Barrel?

Maybe, at some point, I’m just supposed to accept life as a 24-year-old 45-year-old.  I’ve heard that some twenty-somethings do this.  And for those people, I have a few important questions.

What is a Lazy Susan really, and what do you use it for?  Are couples required to take engagement photos in a public park?  Why do wedding invitations come in 15 envelopes, and why do babies look like aliens?  If I post about my workouts on Facebook, will they become less hateful?  And if I post pictures of the food I make, will it become less like a frozen pizza?

Is IKEA a fun place to go on a Saturday night?  Can one actually call ones significant other “hubby” without vomiting?  Have cardigans become acceptable club-wear?  And, most importantly, can we have alcohol at your baby shower?

Read more RWR’s

A preschool teacher is given the daunting task of helping little ones find their way in this world. She introduces them to new concepts, helps them navigate new friendships, and empowers them to overcome the day-to-day drama that comes with being a 2-year-old.

You have fulfilled this role for our family this year and we could not be happier with the end result. You welcomed our daughter on the first day of school, as scared and shy as she was, and helped her become the articulate, lively, funny little girl she is today.

I know how hard your job is, as I was in your shoes just a few short years ago. The days are not always easy with a room full of 2-year-olds. I now have those moments as a mom. Some mornings, I just can’t wait to drop her off at your door. But, throughout the day, I will miss her being by my side. I can find comfort knowing that she is with you and that she is safe and having fun.

My friends thought I was crazy for driving across town to take Ansley to preschool. “Just put her in the school down the street” they said. But I felt something when I toured your school. I felt an energy and a positive presence that good schools buzz with. My expectations were exceeded. We found a great school. And you know what makes a great school? The teachers. It’s not the materials or the building or the curriculum. It’s the teachers. I never feel that I have to defend my decision to drive across town each day for school because I know that my daughter is in the right place. And that place is your classroom.

Ansley will not remember every song you taught her. She will not remember every friend’s name. But I guarantee she will remember your kindness and your gentle spirits. You have a passion for teaching this precious age. You have made a difference in our lives. Ansley is a better person, a smarter person, and a more adventurous person because of your class. She loves school because of you. That is something that I can never repay you for. Instilling the love of learning in my child is a blessing I’ll never be able to say thank-you enough for. Ansley has become so attached to you and trusting of you that she now cries “I want my teachers!” when she finds herself in trouble at home. That’s the sign of a good preschool teacher. Your students love you. Your parents love you. And we thank you for making such a difference in our child’s life.

It’s hard for me to believe that it’s the last day of school. I honestly feel like I just was taking her first day of school pictures in the hallway. You’ve made this school year a joy and we can never thank you enough. You are my daughter’s Mrs. Beets and I could not be happier for that.