Day 29: A Picture that ALWAYS makes me smile

I love this picture.

I love the little girl in it too, even though she's almost 14 now.

Since the day she was born, my niece Holley has been this bright little light in my life.  It was the first time in my life that I got to be the "favorite aunt"...or the favorite anything for that matter.  Each of my brother's five girls has an aunt or uncle that they just took to instantly.  Holley is mine.  When she was a baby, she looked just like me.  It makes me feel good when people still see a resemblance, because I think she's a beauty.

In her 13ish years, we've spent hours on Nannie's back porch swing, done lots of cooking, and spent many Saturdays being lazy and watching "Say Yes to the Dress."  

When I was single, she kept me from feeling lonely.  She reminded me that I was special to somebody.

When I started dating Kevin, she was the first person in our family to officially meet him.  She approved.  She liked the way he opened the car door for me.  She's a smart girl.  I hope she remembers that when she starts dating.

When I found out that I was pregnant with Jackson, she was the first person (besides our parents) that we told.  Jackson was due on her birthday.  He was born three days early, but in a way I think that's better.  She deserves her own special day.

We don't get as much "just us girls" time as we used to.  In some ways, that makes me appreciate her more, because she is incredibly understanding about it.  She humors my kids when they drag her upstairs to play.  I keep telling myself that someday soon I'm going to send my kids off for a Nannie or Nana day and take Holley to get a pedicure or something, because before I know it, she's going to be all grown up with kids of her own.

She makes me proud.

She makes me happy.

She makes me smile.

Day 28: Something I'm afraid of

When I started thinking about this post, I realized I have lots of fears. 

All irrational.

But this one tops the list:  I HATE driving in the rain.

I have no terrifying personal experience on which to base this fear.  I've had two wrecks in my life.  The first one was in the rain, but it was more a drizzle, and it had more to do with me not slowing down soon enough.  The second one was on loose gravel (another thing I have a deep abiding respect for now).

It was after the second wreck that my fear of driving in the rain started to creep up on me.  I guess it's more a fear of not having control of a vehicle.   Or of people around me not having control of their vehicles. 

Now, it's not that I WILL NOT drive in the rain.  I refuse to let it cripple me.  But I'm that granny driver that will creep along at 45 mph.  And I am praying the entire time for the rain to stop (one time it actually did--which was a total blessing because I was on the verge of a panic attack), for cars to slow down, for everyone to arrive at their destinations safely.

Go around. 

I don't mind.

Day 27: My Dad and Me

I love my dad.

It's a good thing, too, because you know how most girls typically turn into their mothers as they get older?  In some ways I am--I walk like her, I have a lot of her mannerisms--but in all honesty, I think I'm turning into my dad. 

There are worse things that could happen.

When I was a little girl, I thought my dad was an author.  I knew he had an amazing ability to draw, so when he would come home with a book (from the book club my mom signed up for), I just knew he'd spent his entire day writing and illustrating it for me.

(Perhaps, just maybe, I might've thought the entire world revolved around my happiness...)

I was most definitely a mama's girl...she was the "lenient parent"...I think it had more to do with the fact that she was around me all the time and knew me better.  Dad was super protective...

"Don't lean on the car door!  It could fly open at any minute and you could fall out!!!"

(Turns out that happened to him as a kid...)

"When you go around this curve, ALWAYS stay on your side of the road."

(This little nugget was given to me in my early driving years regarding a curve on the way to our house. I've had to stop myself from saying it to my husband.  It's good advice.)

"Don't put that straw to your forehead! If you fell you could poke it all the way through your skull to your brain!!"

(Yes, he actually said that.  More than once.)

"It will feel better when it stops hurting."

(I remember the first time he said this to me...I was running through the pasture behind our house and tripped on some tractor attachment that was hidden in the tall grass.  I scraped my knees and bruised my shins and thought it might be the worst pain ever.  And that was how he comforted me.  I actually said that to Jackson just the other day and got a tiny bit of glee from being on the other end of it.)

I understand now that if I'd done some of the crazy things my dad did as a kid--and lived--I'd be a crazy protective parent too.

As I got older, my Dad and I seemed to have more in common than my Mom and I.  It had a lot to do with me being a teenager and Mom and I spending too much time together.  But I also think it has a lot to do with genetics.  Doesn't that determine everything?

Like the fact that my mom hated MASH and Barney Miller and Taxi, but Dad and I loved them.

Or how Dad could keep me captivated for hours talking about the flood and how it created the Grand Canyon. (He can still talk for hours about this.  Just ask him. ;) )

Or how we both thought the lone gunman theory was a bunch of hooey.

Or how I loved hearing his stories about his childhood and how he would roam around Pruitt with his cousins, causing nine kinds of mischief.

I also get a lot of other traits from my dad. 

Like how I would rather talk about anything else than my innermost feelings.  I can count on one finger the number of "deep" discussions we've had.  It was the most uncomfortable hour of both our lives.

Or how when it comes to any sort of project, it's has to be perfect or I won't be able to quit tinkering with it.  If you've ever watched Dad pack for a trip, you know what I'm talking about.  He is the MacGuyver of luggage.  Honestly, he's the MacGuyver of anything broken.  He is not beyond using a piece of string and chewing gum to fix something--and it will be fixed forever.

Or how one of my favorite parts of a vacation is planning it.

Or how despite my inability to verbalize my deepest innermost feelings sometimes, I know my kids know how much they are loved. 

I love you, Dad.

Day 26: Something that Means A Lot to Me

This is my desk at work.

Remember in my last post how I said I love seventh graders?  This is one of the reasons why.

Now before you go thinking that I have allowed hooligans to ruin a perfectly good desk, know two things:
1)  All the writing is on tape, or post it, or something that can easily be removed. (Well, not easily.  But it is not permanent.)
2)  This isn't a perfectly good desk.  It is old.  One of the legs is falling off.  It needed character.

There's a story behind the tape.
 

My third year at the junior high, I had a very special group of students.  These kids were the type that come along very rarely, and we were blessed to have a grade full of them.  They were bright and funny and creative and so much fun to teach.

My last period class that year consisted of 26 girls and 2 boys.  It was an advanced class, and Oh. My. Goodness.  They were such an amazing group.  The only problem was for a short period of time I didn't have enough desks, so each day, one girl would get the privilege of sitting at my desk.  They were sweet girls and I trusted them.

Imagine my surprise one afternoon when I went back to my desk and found several pieces of tape in various locations with little "love notes" written in silver Sharpie...

"Hi Mrs. Reed!"

"Mrs. Reed Rox!"

"Love you!"

"Thanks for letting me use your desk!"

Maybe I should've been mad.  But they made me smile.  From that point on, any girl that sat at my desk would leave a note.  I have several that claim to have been the originator of the tradition...honestly, it doesn't matter.

This is a shot underneath my desk.  They like to be sneaky sometimes. :)

Over the years, I've had to make rules for students wanting to leave their mark. 
1) You can't leave an anonymous note.  Your name must be included.
2)  Your note must be to me and not about how great you think you are.  It's my desk.  I need to know how great you think I am! ;)
3)  All notes must be in Sharpie and on tape or post it...otherwise it will disappear.
4)  Notes can only be left in the spring, and you must have my permission.

In some ways, my desk is a time capsule. There are some notes that are so blurred and faded with time that they are impossible to read...but I still know who wrote them.   The kids who wrote on it are, in some cases, 19 years old now.  But to me, they are still 12.  They still think I'm cool.  They still miss my class.  Their biggest problem is still not remembering the combination to their lockers.

Every year, kids move on to 8th grade, promising to come back and say hello...some do.  Most don't.  They get busy, they move away, they grow up, they find other role models.  And that's okay, because I still get to see what great young adults they become, and I get to feel like maybe I had a little hand in it. 

And that's what it means to be a teacher.

Day 25: My Day

My days have had essentially the same view since 2002.

I love my job.

I teach in the school district where I spent 12.5 years as a student.  I teach and have taught with people that taught me.  I waited 4 years before I could even interview here because there was literally no turnover.  It is a great district with great people.

I've been working at the junior high for nine years, and in those nine years, I've changed rooms four times (three of the four times were in the first three years...that's the price you pay for being the new girl).  I like my current room.  It's always interesting, because you never know exactly what temperature you might encounter when you walk through the door. In August, the heat comes on. One day while I was on maternity leave, I got a text message saying it was 41 degrees!  Never a dull moment!

When I was student teaching, I knew that I wanted to teach 7th graders, and I've had the pleasure (yes, really) of doing that very thing for those nine years.  Every time I tell someone that I teach junior high, I get something to the effect of, "Wow! Who'd you tick off to get that assignment?"  But I love that age.  I've taught pre-K kids all the way up to 8th graders.  My favorite was always seventh. Seventh graders never change.  Until they become eighth graders.  I'm blessed in that every year there are kids that seem to actually like seeing me every morning.  And I'm always learning from them.  They are interesting conversationalists.  And they are great fun to joke around with, because on most occasions, they get it.

The "bonus" of teaching at the junior high is that I also have great co-workers.  I get to work with some of my best friends. We laugh on a regular basis and have so much fun. They are my "go-to girls." I'm also blessed with an amazing boss who understands what really matters in life.  More than once he's said to me, "Your family comes first.  Do whatever you need to do, and we'll handle things here."  It really is a great place.

I love my job.