Someone mistook me for a mother the other day, and I loved it.

I am fortunate enough to be in a line of work where I get to be with kids every day in a role as close to parenting as I've ever experienced. There are days when I am the one to wake them up, help them dress, get their breakfasts, and do their hair before even beginning what my self-appointed job title defines as "home education teaching". (Yes, I homeschool people's kids.)

It's been a journey learning to work together, and working to learn together.  It took me quite a while to earn the trust needed to teach and discipline these kids that aren't mine, and there have been plenty of days when I was happy to sign off at the end of my contracted time and give them back to their parents while I reveled in the freedom of childless singleness. 

There have even been times when I have considered chasing the glory of the corporate world, abandoning my job that has no upward career path (heck, I am making this up as I go), no benefits (unless you count shared fruit snacks), and no recognition (except from the wonderful parents I work with).

But the other day I took two of my students on a field trip to the library, and a volunteer stopped us to talk on our way in.  "What beautiful girls! Are you excited to go to the library with mommy?" 

Now this isn't the first time this has happened with me and children. But usually the kids are quick enough to correct with, "She's our teacher!" Or whatever I happen to be to them at the time. But here the girls just smiled and nodded, and the youngest slipped her hand into mine as we continued into the library.

My first emotion was humility. I felt so honored to be considered enough of a friend and protector to these children that they would allow me the title of Mother. 

And then I thought of my growing up years, and how one of my favorite things to do was take my collection of younger siblings on a walk to the nearest drugstore, give them all 50¢, and let them pick out their own treat to eat while we walked the half mile back home. I'm not sure why this was so fun for me (since I came out $3-$5 poorer every time) except that there would invariably be someone who asked me about "my kids" or made some other reference to me being a parent of at least a few of them. I must have loved playing "house" or "mom" more than I would ever admit to, because these are seriously some of my favorite memories.

A certain cousin of mine and I would write letters back and forth through our teenage years, and I remember a letter of hers at the age of 15 where she told me of her excitement at the thought of being pregnant. The miracle of growing another human inside of you was such a wonder, and while she was content to wait for the right time and place, she was looking forward to that experience. I, on the other hand, was terrified of being pregnant. Aaaahhh!!! (It still scares me, P.S.) But one thing that I knew for sure was that I wanted to be a mother, and for that I was willing to face my fear (someday).

Someday I want to fall asleep in a rocking chair with my baby. Someday I want to have to settle an argument between my kids about who gets to sit on my lap during storytime. Someday I want to be the crazy soccer mom that brings oranges and carrots to practice instead of Capri Suns, because those are just full of sugar. Someday I want to be the first person that they cry for when they are hurt, or sad, or happy, or anything else (although I'll hopefully share this with their father), because they know that I (and we) care the most.

So even though there are days when they drive me crazy, or when a lucrative office job sounds tempting, there are more times when I am so grateful to do what I do for a living. I'm so grateful for these children, and for all the children I have ever worked with, who gave me a small taste of what it might feel like to be a mother. And thank you to the volunteer who mistook me for a mother, because I can't think of higher praise. 

A Tribute to Good Men

Today I am feeling extremely blessed by the number of good men that I have been surrounded by my whole life. First there is my wonderful father, who from the beginning would "tickle-wrestle" with my siblings and I, would play sports with me, and who always knows what to say to motivate me in the right direction (even if he has to use reverse psychology, like when he suggested I drop out of college - sneaky move, Dad!) My daddy is the only person I have ever trusted to carry me up and down stairs - random fact, I have a fear of both heights and stairs, so it's a big deal - and his knowledge about so many things had me subconsciously convinced that he knew everything until I was 14 years old. (I can't even remember the question I asked him then, just the shock when I heard the words "Hmm, I don't know.") But even beyond those things I love that my Dad is a good-hearted man who wants to serve and help others, and his willingness to share and give have always inspired me.

Then there are my AMAZING brothers, who are my best friends (with my sisters, of course), my heroes, and my burly and hairy cheerleading squad! There are so many things that I love about each of them, I just wanted to write a quick tribute to each. And these are just the first things that come to mind.

Aaron: runs with me at my pace so we can talk, when I know his legs are capable of so much more.
Dane: co-conspirator in crime for the first...16 years of my life, and we understand each others jokes.
Ammon: is willing to throw a football with me even when he has homework, and kept me entertained (and in shape) for years by always trying to have the last touch in a fight!
Lehi: taught me how to love kids (when he was a baby) and still calls to talk to me.
Moroni: ("My-Roni") took me on the AWESOME date where I re-learned how to land a front flip and is doing a biking trip with me this summer!
Helaman: my scrabble challenger and Taco Bell companion, and yet he still enjoys eating my healthy concoctions.
Mosiah: teases me, defends me, and will ALWAYS beat me in the one-armed tickling contest.
Alma: understands (and shares) my love for food, draws the most amazing pictures, and keeps me on schedule.
Benjamin: (Bean) gives great hugs, has a very creative imagination, and isn't in a hurry for me to get married. (I don't blame anyone who is, since I definitely fall into that category, but he is refreshingly oblivious to my age and status.)
And Jonny, my brother by marriage: gives great dating advice, set me up with my semi-permanent companion (my iPhone), and puts up with me in softball. ;)

And then there are my grandpas, uncles, cousins, nephews, teachers, religious leaders, and friends who have all helped and encouraged me at some point in my life. Chances are if you are reading this you fall in one of those categories, so THANK YOU! The world isn't easy on men these days, and I just want you to know what it has meant to me that you are honorable men who really are trying to do right. Good men, I salute you.

Voyages and Veggie Tales

For the dwindling Veggie Tale enthusiasts, this is a post for you. And for the rest this may require a little bit of explaining and maybe even a small investment of time and attention, but I hope it will be worth it to you. There is a Veggie Tales song called 'The Pirates Who Don't Do Anything' and if you haven't seen/heard it, then you need to stop right now and google it. I'll wait.

Okay, so now I can tell you. I am in Boston!!! Only for about 90 more minutes, but I have been here for four days and it has been amazing. I am starting to feel like I have a lot of favorite places in this world, but Boston is now definitely one of them.

For the last several weeks I have been mourning the fact that I am missing fall. Tucson, from what I have heard, doesn't really have a fall season, and when I asked someone if any of the leaves change color they actually laughed at me. (I wasn't offended and I guess I should have expected it; I have never seen a red, orange, or yellow cactus or palm tree, either.) Oregon has a spectacular fall season, and I have several personal traditions during that time. I rake and jump in leaves, I go running through the "highway of fire" (Teal Blvd in Beaverton when the leaves change), I make pumpkin cookies, and my favorite activity: I collect my favorite leaves and photocopy them in color to do artwork with later. The sadness of missing these things was almost as acute as when I missed blackberry season (and I am not joking when I say that nearly brought me to tears every time I thought about it).

So what did I do? Planned a trip to Boston, of course! I had a friend out there that was kind enough to let me visit, and over the course of the weekend my longing for autumn was appeased. The first day I saw Boston itself, and I don't even remember everything I saw, but the best part of the whole day was buying apples from street vendors and eating them while wandering the narrow but stately streets. The next day was Gloucester (pronounced "Gloster"), which is a coastal town, likely responsible for your weekly dose of fish sticks. It was so fun! I experienced the Atlantic on a whale-watching vessel, I walked up and down the wharf watching the ships, and I carried two live lobster around in a bag for a good portion of the day. (They weren't alive for part of the trip...whoops.) Saturday night found me wandering Little Italy in the north end of Boston, and after some cannoli and lobster for dinner I was ready to call it a day.
Sunday was calmer with church, followed by a walk through the cemetery and an impromptu tour of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's home. Did you know that it was George Washington's headquarters for 9 months at the start of the revolutionary war? I didn't. But now I do!

Today, my last day, I went to Concord, the home of such literary giants as Emerson, Thoreau, and Alcott. I walked all around the city and saw their homes, the Old North Bridge, and other gems of American history while gathering leaves and taking pictures. I talked to the locals, was asked for directions by the tourists, and even stopped at Dunkin' Donuts to get a bagel with pumpkin spread for lunch. It was nearly time to catch my train back, and I was nearly ready when - tender mercy - I happened upon a color copy center! I hurried in to arrange and copy my leaves, the precious proof of fall, and in that moment I felt my journey was fulfilled.

I am content to be returning to Tucson, but to any of you observing the leaves this season I would just say, aren't they marvelous?!? I will never tire of looking at them. And although I don't know when, I am sure that I will be back to Boston, now that I have graduated from being a pirate that doesn't do anything.

If I were a Disney Princess...

Today one of my students likened me to Ariel, the Disney mermaid, not because I have flowing red hair (because I don't) or because I roam the ocean in a seashell bra (because I DEFINITELY don't), but because I lost my voice. Utterly. Completely. Obviously.

It started on Tuesday, with a slight sore throat and a little bit of a tickle. On Wednesday morning my voice was already giving out in certain tonal ranges, and by this morning (Thursday) I was reduced to a breathy whisper, understood only when coupled with absolute silence and lip-reading. I have only lost my voice two or three other times in my life, although never to this extent, and I always thought it was kind of fun to hear it squeak and see what it would do when I tried to say things normally. Of course, I never had anything really important to do then.

Some things are really hard to do without a voice. I have learned what a lot of those things are in the last 36 hours: asking for directions, ordering at a restaurant, answering the phone, and especially teaching first grade. I went to school determined to make it until lunch, and greeted all of my students with a soundless "good morning" at the door. They thought it was funny, and some were genuinely concerned, but overall they behaved very well. I wrote out my comments, instructions, and questions on the whiteboard and I was pleased to see everyone trying to read the messages, even the less competent readers. They helped each other to understand what I was saying, and I had several volunteers for a personal assistant.

But even with the best behavior, it was pretty challenging to teach a math lesson, and phonics was out of the question, so I sent them off to lunch and called in for a substitute. How fun! Now I had the rest of the afternoon free!

First I wanted to call my mom. Wait...she can't hear me. Hmmm, I thought, maybe I will go find out more about that piano playing job at the retirement center! Nope, that is out, too. I ended up spending a silent afternoon cleaning my apartment and taking a nap, and I was sad to not be able to sing as I did the dishes, because that is one of the few times when I do. I think I normally identify more with Cinderella (just because of the activities that bring on her spontaneous bursts of song), but for this week I guess I am stuck with a closer resemblance to the Disney girl in the seashell bra.

P.S. If I had to choose a Disney character that I identify most with, it would undoubtedly be Meg from Hercules.

Home-Making

This week in class we were learning the vocabulary word 'habitat' and the definition given in the text was 'where something makes its home.' This started me thinking about homes. My students' idea that a home is "the place where you live" didn't satisfy me, and even "where your family is" or "where you've been the longest" seemed too narrow of a description. The only qualifier that encompassed all of my feelings was this: A home is where part of your heart will be forever.

I feel like I've had a lot of homes already. Oregon, of course, where I have spent so many wonderful years with family and friends, is home. So are certain places in Utah where I have lived while going to school. Belgium is another; even though I was only there for a few months, it was a home by the time I left.

Unlike Voldemort, who was unaware of his splitting soul when he inadvertently created a seventh horcrux, I always know when a piece of my heart is left behind. I remember the day I arrived by boat in Cagliari, Italy, and I knew immediately that when I did have to leave this city it would be a painful parting. I woke up every morning loving something new about it, from the birds flying outside our 5th story window, to the people who invited us - as random strangers - to have dinner with them, to the fruit that would fall on my head as we jogged under date trees in the city. When I got word that I would have to leave I felt physical pain that I hadn't experienced so acutely before, nor have I since. I knew that my heart would always ache for the substantial piece severed and left behind in Cagliari.

Other homes have been added since then, and I keep wondering how my heart can still function, being spread as thinly as it is. Sometimes I even feel disloyal knowing that even as I am leaving one home, I will find another. And in certain moments my heart aches for something that will last, something that won't change and that I will never have to leave behind.

This feeling of being "homesick for heaven," as I learned to call it, reminds me that the biggest piece of my heart was left behind a long time ago, when I left my Heavenly home to make a new one on earth. And as much as I love all of my homes here and now, I am excited to return to that one some day, hopefully to stay. :)

Tucson: First (Month's) Impressions

Tucson really is a colorful place. And I am not just talking about the 4 hues of rock that people can choose from in "landscaping" their yards, or the colorful language of my next door neighbor. It is a quirky place, and the longer I am here the more I discover those things that can either endear (or estrange) this city to its occupants.

First of all there are the roads. I can't remember if I have mentioned them before, but I have seriously wondered if someone goes out with a shovel at night and takes out chunks of asphalt, just for the heck of it. There are huge pieces of road missing! As much as I miss my motorcycle, I would be a nervous wreck trying to navigate around the holes, and even in a car I have to be constantly watching the road. (I know this is a good idea anyway, but it does make it harder to spot places you are looking for when you are playing at a real live Mario Kart.)

I do like that Tucson roads follow the grid system. I was recently informed that all of the major roads are at stoplights 1 mile apart, which makes running calculations easier. The only downside to that is that the crosswalks are few and far between, so most people don't bother with them. When I first arrived here it seemed like jaywalking was the preferred form of exercise for most Tucsonans, and I am still not convinced otherwise.

Something about Tucson that I absolutely love is the wildlife, specifically the lizards. Those of you who know me well know that I have an affinity for reptiles, and the fact that they scamper across my sidewalk as I head out to school every morning totally makes my day. I even caught 2 baby horny toad lizards the other day! They were so cute, and it is fascinating to hold such an obvious relative of dinosaurs in your hand without fearing for your life. :)

Have I told you about the "washes" of Tucson yet? This is what gets me most of all. Every mile or so Tucson has what is called a "wash" - a dry bed of dirt, sand, or cement that looks like it could be the sad remains of what once contained flowing water - and they give them names like "Rose Wash" or "Pantano Wash", like it is some kind of tourist attraction. They are bone dry until...monsoon season! Then they catch all the runoff and turn into a temporary creek or river, lasting anywhere from 2-48 hours before the earth can finally absorb all the moisture. They are purely decorative for the other 11 months of the year, but during monsoon season the Tucson "washes" serve a useful purpose.

These are just a few of the things that have made an impression on me since my transfer here. There are others, like the Sonoran cacti (the classic, movie-style cactus that actually only grows in the Sonoran dessert), the air force base full of retired war planes (which I get to drive past in my commute), and the exceptionally good Mexican food I have had since moving here. I am not sure how long I will be in the Southwest, but it has definitely made a mark. And that is not counting the sun-induced extra freckles on my nose.

P.S. I do wear sunscreen most of the time...

Lesson #13,698,013

Sometimes I have to remember that life is for learning things. With my current occupation you would think this would be a hard truth to forget, but I do. Or I want to pick and choose the kind of education that comes to me, without considering what the Teacher wants me to learn. I am still not a very good student, but these last few weeks have taught me to be more humble and trusting.

After moving to Tucson (and probably as an indirect result of it, along with other strenuous activities) I developed a back/shoulder problem that started off as a mild irritation in week one and turned into a nearly unbearable pain by week three. Teaching required constant doses of ibuprofen (which I abhor, having always hoped to keep my kidneys and liver in a fit state to donate) and my hope of successfully finishing out this school year turned into a plea to be able to get through a day. Every day after getting home all I could do was lay on my back until the exhaustion overcame the pain and I slept for a few hours at a time. I don't know if I have ever been more discouraged in my life. I didn't feel like I could be a good teacher when I was so constantly distracted by pain, and I couldn't find any stress relief in sports or exercise, which are a HUGE part of my life.

Finally on Sunday I made a trip to urgent care and the doctor there shed some light on the problem. Apparently it is a herniated disc that is pinching the C8 nerve in my lower neck and causing pain through my back and left arm. It is made worse by things like running, volleyball, and pretty much every other sport that I have played. Moving large and bulky items (for my apartment and my classroom) on top of that finally pushed it over the edge, and the doctor said that from here on out I will likely have "episodes" where it will flare up (usually 6 weeks to 2 months) interspersed with pain-free times, depending on my activities. He prescribed some stronger medication for pain, and told me to take ibuprofen constantly (???) to keep the swelling down.

I'll be honest, I didn't handle the news very valiantly. "So my options," I thought, "are A) to live a sedentary life and eventually die from boredom B) ignore the advice, keep playing sports and die even earlier from kidney failure or C) see how long I can go without meds before the pain makes everything impossible."

(Note: Trust me, I know that I was being overly dramatic and a whiner. There are SO many people in this world who deal with a lot more pain on a regular basis, and they still go about with their busy and productive lives. In fact, they are usually the most productive people I know. I have been blessed to have always had pretty good health and few injuries, so I am still learning how to work with pain, however slight it may be.)

There have been a lot of times in the last few days when I have asked Heavenly Father "Why?" Why did He want me to move to Tucson - I really had felt good about it - when it would indirectly lead to this problem? Why couldn't the problem have shown up before I moved, when I probably would have looked for a less physical job? Why did I have to be so far away from all my family and loved ones at the time when I wanted them most?

Today when I was teaching an answer came to me in this way. I was trying to teach a phonics lesson, but one of the students kept raising his hand to ask me what we were doing and never seemed to listen when I gave instructions or explanations. He just kept on asking questions! Finally I called his name and said "If you keep on asking questions, you'll never learn the lesson." I'm not sure if he really understood that - he is, after all, only 6 - but it's application for me was obvious and I thought about it for the rest of the day.

"Be still, and know that I am God." (Doctrine and Covenants 101:16) This is the lesson that I am learning, and I really am trying to shut my mouth and open my heart and mind. :) Not an easy task for me, but I will improve.

I am sure that everything will work out, and again, I feel like I always end up on the easy side of trials. So many people deal with so much more, not just in the way of physical hardships, but also emotional and spiritual. I am grateful to share your ranks in some small way, and my prayers go out to those who are suffering anywhere.

P.S. My school really is great, and I have wonderful students. Despite its location, the whole school seems to be very normal and safe. Hooray! :)

The Inner-City Life For Me!

Three weeks ago today I sat at my computer at my home in Beaverton, Oregon and applied for teaching jobs. I applied for a few in Wyoming, a few in Virginia/DC, and a few in Arizona. Two days later I got a call from a school in Arizona to set up an interview via Skype. Two interviews later they offered me a position. Two days later I accepted, and became the newest first grade teacher at the Math and Science Success Academy in Tucson, Arizona.

Because teacher training started on July 30, I had to move to Tucson right away. I always thought I liked Arizona, and although I had never been to Tucson I imagined that orange and grapefruit trees were to Tucson what blackberries are to the northwest. I can live anywhere as long as the supply of fresh produce (hereafter referred to solely as "fresh") is ample and cheap, and since I am not a picky eater - see, Alma, it runs in the family ;) - it doesn't really matter what kind of fresh. I packed up all of my belongings, fit most of them into my little Toyota, and on July 24 I started my journey by driving alone to Provo. From there I picked up Annie, and on the 25th he two of us drove down to Mesa, and then on to Tucson, arriving the afternoon of July 26th.

There were a whole lot of blessings and miracles of varying sizes during that week, as there have been since. The first miracle was that my car survived the journey. 4 quarts of oil and a whole lot of prayers helped to get it there, and I thank all of those who contributed in that effort. We pulled into the charter school in downtown Tucson and walked in, sweaty and tired, to introduce ourselves. "What school are you teaching at?" the front desk lady inquired. "Math and Science Success Academy." I answered. "Oh honey, you're in the OTHER school. On the SOUTH side of town." The way she said it left little doubt that "the south side" was in all ways a less desirable location, but I didn't want to appear too concerned, so I just got he address from her and figured I would go see it on my own. First, however, I had to get fingerprinted at the sheriff's office (a requirement when teaching school), so Annie and I headed there, filled out paperwork, and sat in a waiting line an hour long. My turn finally came around, and the deputies and staff at work talked to me as I was fingerprinted. "So, you're new in town?" "Yep, I arrived all of 2 hours ago." When they heard what brought me to Tucson and where I would be teaching, all three staff members and one deputy had to give me all of their cautions and advice. It went something like this:

Worker 1: "You say you're working on the south side?"
Me: "Yes, and I keep getting the feeling that it is a sketchy place..."
Worker 2: "Yeah, you might say that. A lot of gangs around here, and Tucson is the number one city for drug imports in the nation. 40% of all illegal drugs come through Tucson."
Me: "Well this is all sorts of comforting..."
Deputy: "Do you have a gun?"
Me: "What?!?"
Deputy: "You'll want to get one."
Worker 1: "Nah, everybody else has got one. She'll be alright, as long as she lives on the east side, or north."
Worker 2: "What about west? I live on the west side, and I think it is pretty safe."
Deputy: "Oh no it's not. You stick to the north, or east, but not too far east or they'll steal your car. Do you drive a Honda?"
Me: "No, I have a Toyota..."
Deputy: "They'll steal that one, too. No, you come back here with me and I'll show you some good places to live."

I went around to the cubicles with the deputy and she pulled out a map and showed me a few areas to look for apartments. She even asked I I had a place to stay for the night, and when I said no she said, "Aww man, I'd offer you to come stay at my place, but you might be a serial killer and then I'd be in trouble."

Welcome to Tucson! Annie and I drove east for miles, and finally things began to feel more...normal? Anyhow, the first apartments we stopped to look at were discouraging, and I have to admit that I was a little weirded out by the apartment manager in his late 50's with a 6-inch combover and a lazy eye. So much for normal. But the second place we looked was beautiful! Clean, newer apartments with a view of the mountains, a pool, a fitness center, and a manager who reminded me of one of my best friends from home. It was only slightly more expensive than the first place, and let's be honest, I would pay an extra $50 per month just to avoid nightmares about the combover man. Miracle #2: I was able to move in right away!

Annie and I celebrated by eating out at a sushi restaurant, and were surprised to find that Tucson has pretty good sushi. On top of that, a random man struck up a conversation with us at the sushi bar and ended up buying us deep-fried ice cream. (He wasn't 100% sober, but I didn't feel creeped out by him, and besides, Annie and I he wanted ice cream that day anyway... We ended up giving him fake names, just to be safe.) The people in Tucson sure are friendly!

Things have only gotten crazier since those first few days, but now it is mostly teacher training, classroom prep, and a little exercise and fresh to keep me sane. There are more cacti than grapefruit trees, but thankfully Costco still carries pineapples for $3.49 each. :)

Oregon Summers

Once when asked to make a list of my abilities I wrote down "rapid consumption of fruits and vegetables in large quantities" as one of them. It is not unusual for me to eat an entire pineapple in one sitting, and I have been known to peel and eat oranges in under 30 seconds. I usually have carrots or bell peppers in my purse, and when I make salad for myself it is always in a "family-size" bowl. While I wouldn't necessarily consider this a talent - it gets expensive and can be rather inconvenient - it is a fact and (in part) explains why I love Oregon summers so much.

For those who have never been to northwest Oregon, it is like growing up in a garden. Everything is green, and edibles are so easy to grow that they often spring up without being planted. All of my running/biking routes are planned with second breakfast in mind, and depending on the time of year I can find strawberries, blueberries, blackberries, apples, pears and plums along the public paths. In addition to those, there are always the farms up in the beautiful hill country near my home where you can pick your own produce and pay for it by the pound at a significantly lower price than in a grocery store.

It was to one such farm that I made my way this morning, thinking that I would enjoy the beautiful weather and at the same time harvest enough blueberries to last me through the week. I started out with two empty 1-gallon buckets, and began picking. And eating. And picking. And eating. I realized that I hadn't eaten breakfast before heading out - a rare mistake - and after 15 minutes of frantic picking (and eating) I looked down to find only a thin covering over the bottom of the container. The berry farms usually advertise that you can eat all you want for free while you are picking, but for me that is like a Tongan at an all-you-can-eat restaurant, and I always come out feeling like I have cheated someone. Anyhow, I wanted to be able to take something home, so I decided to limit myself to eating only the small-ish blueberries. And the slightly under-ripe ones. And the ones that I picked with my left hand.

It took me over an hour, but eventually both buckets were full, and so was I. I went to the farm store to pay for my produce and it turned out to be 11.75 pounds of blueberries! I did some quick mental calculations: if I ate one out of every four handfuls (which was being overly generous on the bucket side of things) then I probably consumed about 3 pounds while picking... My conscience pricked me and I felt like I should leave a tip or something, but when I smiled at the girl at the counter she looked at me strangely and I wasn't sure what to do, so I left. On the way back to my car I ran my tongue across the front line of my teeth. Sure enough, more than one blueberry skin had made a temporary home there. Smooth, Kiera.

At least now I have enough berries for a few days, and after that I might go pick again, but at a different farm. :) And in another week or two the first of the blackberries will come in... Mmm, I love Oregon summers!

My Cheerleading Aspirations

It has been far too long since last chronicling my adventures, probably because I don't feel like there are quite as many as of late. Or maybe because they don't seem as important to me. But just to prove to myself that I am "still thinking..." I decided to pull out my handy iPhone notepad and practice again my texting/typing skills. (I don't know why, but posts come more easily to me if I type them on my phone.)

So I know I have mentioned it before, but I like to run. I am not a fast runner - an arthritic chameleon could probably keep up with me - but the fact that I can get places just by moving my body amazes me. In the last few years I have even aspired to the personal challenge of long-distance races, a goal that has been time consuming but also rewarding. Some of my favorite moments at home and abroad are the early morning or dusky evening runs that help me to sort things out in my head, warm up my toes (which seem to be cold all day on the days that I don't exercise), and see the beauties of the world around me.

On a good running day I go out looking decent (I think), with my hair in a ponytail, a clean shirt, and enough energy to avoid pitying looks on the trails. I even wear earrings when I run (yes, I know it is girly, and all I can think is that I subconsciously idolize Anna Kournikova). But somehow, no matter how good I looked starting out, I always finish a run looking ragged and asthmatic. This bothered me less as I increased my mileage, but sometimes I still wanted to tell the people with the pitying looks "This is mile _____. That is why I look like roadkill." I wished that they understood that this was an accomplishment for me, and how far I had come from straining to run a single mile.

These thoughts were curiously flipped on me the other day when I was out for a run. I passed a man that was doing something I had once heard described as "the granny shuffle," and the poor guy was sweating enough to dehydrate Idahoan potato flakes. Walking probably would have been faster than his running pace, but he continued doggedly on, with his small steps that seemed to have lost their spring. He gave me some encouraging words as I passed him, and before I could even pity him the thought came into my mind "You don't know how far he has come." It was true! For all I knew he could have been running all the way from Portland, or from the coast, or maybe he was one of those crazy people that run hundreds of miles for days on end - I had no idea! Maybe he was wheelchair bound last year, maybe he survived a heart attack, or maybe this was his first morning out after struggling with weeks of depression. Either way, the thought was completely true - I didn't know how far he had come.

With that realization I wanted to turn around and cheer for him, and I wish I could say that I did! (In all honesty, I was probably breathing too hard myself to form an intelligible sentence.) I don't do nearly enough cheering on the running trails, and I thought of how much better running would be if we encouraged everyone we saw along the way. And then, since these kinds of random thoughts unfailingly turn themselves into lessons for my life, I realized that life would be a whole lot better if I cheered for people along the way. The ragged, tired, or emotionally asthmatic people, or those who seem to be granny-shuffling their way through life - I have no idea how far they have come. And I don't need to know.

I just need to cheer!

D.C. Sunsets

I have mixed feelings about sunsets. They are breathtakingly beautiful, and I usually feel relaxed and peaceful when I look at the clouds streaked with the lingering fire of the sun. But at the same time I find them just a little bit wistful. They are inevitably followed by the end of another day, and that day, no matter how wonderful it was, can never be relived. (Well, unless you are Phil Conners...)

I have two days left of school teaching in DC. Two days! And a week or so after that I will be officially graduated - an event that my parents had nearly stopped hoping for - and ready to start being what I want to be "when I grow up." The sobering reality of life after graduation has settled on me these last few weeks as it became increasingly likely that I actually would pass my student teaching, and I keep having to remind myself that life does indeed go on. I won't miss the papers, the deadlines, the lesson plans, or the early mornings. But I will miss the joyful noise, the exaggerated stories, and even the poor grammar of my students. I won't miss school bathrooms or school lunches. But I will miss school.

My plans for the future are excitingly vague at present. I am applying to teach in a couple of districts, including...here in DC! (I thought long and hard about it, and everywhere else sounded relatively boring by comparison, haha.) I am also considering pursuing my life-long dreams of being a cocktail pianist on a cruise ship, teaching English in Korea, and getting a job as a flight attendant, but I don't know that any of those would be quite as fulfilling as the dream I have lived for the last 16 weeks. There is just something about changing people's lives that changes your own...

The sun is setting on my DC adventure, and while I am looking forward to home and sleep (literally), it will be fun to see what exciting opportunities come with the next dawn! Whoever says life is boring hasn't lived it. ;)

Loving Them

A troublesome 5th grader was sent to our classroom this week. The teachers at this school are in the habit of sending students into other classrooms for time-out, and when we got S. on Thursday morning we were informed that she would be spending the entire day with our class.

I was less than excited about this addition, since just last week I had to break up a fight between S. and one of my students during recess, and I had also heard about how she was put in handcuffs by security the last time she got in a fight because she just wouldn't stop. But while I was having all of these thoughts my mentor teacher approached S. kindly and introduced herself. "How are you?" My mentor asked her. "Huh?" "How are you doing?" "Good." Some of the fire in her eyes went out and she went quietly to the table that my teacher pointed out for her.

The day progressed rather uneventfully with me teaching the class and S. sitting quietly at my mentor's desk. I couldn't tell what she was doing; I was just happy that she wasn't disrupting the other students. When we came back from lunch we got word that S. would be dismissed from school early and she packed up her things and left the room.

It wasn't until after the other students were dismissed that I walked over to my mentor's desk and my teacher showed me what S. had been working on. It was a piece of yellow cardstock drawn over with clouds and squiggles and "Happy Birthday Daddy!!!" written in large print. It was the other notes written off to the side, though, that really touched me. The first said "I will always miss u!" and I instantly wondered where her father was that she would always miss him. The second little note explained it for me: "Is this how it looks in heaven?"

It just never ceases to amaze me how much my feelings for these children have changed. When I first arrived I loved them naively. I thought they were all cute and sweet and wonderful, and it was a rude awakening when I realized that they are rarely all of the above. After that I endured them as my 9 am to 4 pm daily trial, and struggled and prayed to be able to love them. Gradually those prayers were answered and through a series of little experiences like this one with S., I can say now that I love them knowingly. I know that they can be crazy, wild, dramatic, and even violent. But I still love them. And I am learning that they are more wonderful than I gave them credit for, even in the beginning.

Lessons Learned

I love my students. It has become clearer to me in these last few days as I realized that my time remaining in their classroom is getting short, and I am a little afraid of how much I am going to miss them when I have to leave. They draw out of me (on a daily basis) every human emotion on the spectrum, and while teaching is exhausting, nerve-wracking, challenging, exasperating, etc. it also the most fulfilling thing that I have been able to do in my life so far.

One of the things that I learned this week is when to just shut up. I don’t know what it is about being a new teacher, but for some reason I was under the impression that as a good teacher I should be talking most of the time. I should be giving directions, following up, correcting behavior, calling for order, and so on. I should think aloud, read aloud, and write aloud. At one point during the week, however, the words of a very wise friend and leader came to mind: “He who talks the most learns the most.” If I want my students to learn (especially at a deeper level) I have to let them do the talking! So the next day I tried it. I was running out of things to say anyway, so during the reading aloud when the students were getting difficult to keep quiet, I just shut my mouth. I listened to their comments and conversations (most of which were about the book) and when they were done a minute or so later they quietly and calmly looked up at me to continue reading. I was so surprised and pleased! I realized that I hadn’t trusted them enough to talk before, but by denying them that exercise I was limiting their experience with whatever it was I was trying to teach. It may require more time to be invested, but I have a feeling that the returns will be well worth it. And let’s be honest, I get really tired of hearing my own voice by the end of the week.

Something else that I learned this week had to do with class discipline. I expressed to my mentor teacher my frustration with knowing how to discipline the students when some don’t seem to care about the consequences that we have set up in our class management system. I explained that while I don’t exactly want to “threaten” my students, I don’t feel like I even have anything to threaten them with at those times when their behavior gets out of control. I am not a big fan of taking away recess, since I think they need the exercise and I know that I definitely need the break. I am not sure, either, that sending students to the office does a whole lot more than get them out of the classroom for a few minutes. Detention usually seems pointless, and sending them to another classroom to be in timeout is distracting to the other classes and teachers. What, then, could I do? My mentor teacher explained that there would always be times that the students just don’t want to respond, but the loss of the teacher’s favor has to be the greatest consequence. I have to create relationships with them that are positive enough that they would be sorry to damage that confidence. I am trying to put more of this into practice and already I am seeing great results. It’s effects aren’t as immediate as the threats that I could hand out, but they are much more lasting and they help the students develop into the kind of caring people and citizens that I want them to be.

Last thing learned (again): It is hard to love so much. I realize that these students will move on and most of them I will probably never see again. It is such a short period of time in which I can have any sort of impact on their lives, and then I just have to think about them and pray for them. On Friday morning one of my students (C.) came into the classroom crying, and her silent sobs made it impossible for her to even tell me what was wrong. My mentor teacher wasn’t in the room, but one of C.’s friends came up to tell me that she was crying because her mom had just been taken to prison. What could I do for this poor little child?? I hugged her and had to tried hard to not cry myself as I assured her that everything would be okay. I asked her if there was someone to take care of her and her sister and she said that they would be staying with their grandmother. I can’t imagine having your life change so drastically at 9 years old, and in that moment it hurt my heart that there was so little I could do for her. Goodness knows I would have invited her to come live with me in an instant, but I don’t know how well that would have gone with the administration and I don’t think that is what she needs, either. I just have to pray that somehow things will be okay and that she will grow up feeling loved.

I cannot believe how quickly the time has passed. I essentially have just three more weeks of teaching before I will be done, graduated, and gone. It is still tough and tiring, but I am determined to give it my best effort while I am here. I couldn’t do any less for these kids!

Black or White: what does matter

There seems to be a lot of discussion lately on the subject of race, and I found it a little ironic that this was the first week that I had to deal with some of those issues personally. While I am sure there are still many subconscious biases that I will need to uncover and remedy, I have learned this week that treating people with respect and kindness is what matters most, and I can agree with the words of Michael Jackson that "it don't matter if you're black or white," because we are all just people.

In our student teacher seminar on Wednesday our supervisor told the story of a teacher in a predominantly black school whose students used the term "white" as an insult among themselves. One day the student teacher confronted a student about it, and told him that it really wasn't a good thing to say.

"I'm white," she told the student.

The student jumped to her defense. "No you're not!"

"Yes, I am. I was born white, my family is white, and being white isn't a bad thing."

To that point the student had never connected skin color with the words "black" and "white". White was something abnormal, despised, snoody, etc.

For the most part I have felt welcomed in my school by both students and faculty. We say "good morning" every day and chat about school, weekend plans, and life in general. Sometimes, however, I have sensed a barrier. I don't quite know how to say it, but the first time I realized it was during a school assembly when they had the entire school chant "I'm black and I'm proud" followed by a scripted performance by the student body officers pledging support to and faith in President Obama's upcoming re-election. Political opinions and correctness aside, it demonstrated the deep pride that these people have in their history and culture, and for a minute I felt like I wasn't allowed to be proud of my own ancestry. I felt mistrusted, misunderstood, and definitely like an outsider, and I started to reflect these feelings back in my interactions with students and other teachers.

These sentiments rarely surfaced in my conscious mind, but on Thursday of this past week they were brought abruptly to the forefront. I was in my classroom after school and two girls came in to wait for their after-school tutors to arrive. I see these girls every week and we always exchange smiles and say hello, but since they aren't my students I don't have a lot of personal interaction with them. This week, however, one of them turned to me and asked "Excuse me, are you white?" My first reaction was complete surprise that she had to ask. While I am capable of acquiring a nice tan in the summertime, let's be honest, I am about as Anglo-Saxon as they come in the winter. (Even in the summer you couldn't realistically mistake me for an African-American.)

"Yes, I am," I answered, not sure what else to say.

Suddenly both girls were quiet and things were awkward.

"Why would you ever ask that?" The other girl hissed at her friend.

The questioner addressed me again with "Oh, I'm sorry. No offense, but I don't like white people."

I had to laugh at the "no offense" part, but I asked her why anyway. She said "because they be mean." Her friend was embarrassed and tried to get her to be quiet, and even offered that she didn't think they were ALL mean. I admit that I was feeling a bit ruffled at being identified with such an unmerited stereotype, and I did my best to stay polite as I explained that I tried to be kind and white people were just like black people in that you have nice and mean personalities in both races. Their tutors came in soon after and I left for the day, but a feeling of resentment lingered and I was hurt that some people in this culture still seem to see me as "white" and not as "Kiera."

As I have thought more on this experience and others like it, I have realized how many times in my own life I have seen other people through a similar lens. My biased and blurried understanding of some cultures has limited my ability to see people for who they really are. Misunderstanding leads to mistrust, which leads to suspicion, which can lead to accusation, violence and so on.

On the other hand, when I get to know and see these people as individuals I learn that we are not so different after all. This week I met the parent of a student who enjoys reading, Capri Suns, and who chews ice even though she knows it is bad for her teeth. Well, so far that is just like me! I suddenly had common ground with this woman, however simple it was. And that understanding led to respect, trust, and kindness.

I don't know all the answers to the world's complicated problems, and most of the time I feel like I have enough of my own to deal with. But this week was a good reminder for me that we are all just people, and all children of the same loving Heavenly Father. The sibling rivalry we have going on here has got to stop!

God "inviteth them all to come unto him and partake of his goodness; and he denieth none that come unto him, black and white, bond and free, male and female; and he remembereth the heathen; and all are alike unto God..."

- 2 Nephi 26:33, The Book of Mormon

Speechless (almost)

Wow. WOW. It has been a busy week, and there have been so many ups, downs, goods, bads, and all-out crazies that I am completely ready to resign for the next 48 hours.

Teaching overall is getting more comfortable, and it doesn't take me nearly as much time as it used to to plan a day's worth of lessons. I used to spend hours planning a single lesson, and now I spend about one hour for multiple lessons! It makes teaching seem more doable, which is nice. The kids and I are also getting more used to each other, and I feel like I am developing a sixth sense that allows me to know when to push them, when to hold back, when to insist on certain things and when to relax a little bit. It has been such a blessing!

One example (and unquestionably my favorite moment of the week) happened on Tuesday when T. (student) refused to go to French class. T. is one of our two special education students, and he has extreme attention and behavior difficulties, and just two weeks ago we had to call security on him because he was pushing over desks, throwing things, etc. Since then he has been a little better, but on Tuesday he chose to be very adamant and vocal about not going to French (which is understandable if you read my earlier post about THAT teacher), and I couldn't even think of anything to say to him in the moment, so I didn't say anything. T. walked with me and the rest of the class down the hall to French class, all the way yelling out "I ain't goin' in there! I hate French!" And drumming along the walls quite loudly as he went. I dismissed the other students to go into he classroom, and turned to T. who was still drumming a fast beat pattern on the wall. He had found a hollow spot and the rhythm resonated throughout the hallway, and since I still had no words to say to him I just stood there. Normally I wouldn't allow him to do that, but as I stood waiting for some inspiration on how to deal with this child it suddenly occurred to me that he was quite a percussionist. Being a musician myself, I know how hard it is to keep up a very fast and regular beat, and with the intricate offbeat pattern that he had woven in it really was impressive.

"T., you are a very good drummer," I told him.

"I know that!"

"Well I didn't know that. Sometime I'll have to bring in a drum and you can play for the class."

"I have drums."

"Well sometime I'll LET you bring them in and play for the class."

I gave him a pat on the shoulder and walked away, hoping that he would decide to go to French class before another teacher caught him. The drumming stopped as I turned the corner, and when I made it back to our own classroom I was relieved that T. hadn't followed me.

When the hour of French was up I went to get my class. T. was the first one out the door, but (surprisingly) he didn't have any complaints and came to line up right next to me. Then as the other kids lined up, T. did something that left me absolutely speechless. He took hold of my hand and held it, and then draped my arm around his shoulders and leaned his head against me. T., who shuns any physical contact that isn't aggressive, and whom I had NEVER seen display any kind of affection!

T., who has no father to speak of, whose mother is in and out of prison, and whose mother told us the last time we called that when T. is in school "he ain't my problem no more." T., who can't read or write and spends half of the day in a special education classroom where he is taught he alphabet for the thousandth time. I had struggled to understand him from day 1, and at best I endured him. I had avoided his dreadlocks like the McDonalds they smelled like, and his general lack of hygiene made me less than eager to work with him one-on-one. God forgive for not seeing this child for what he is! I am so grateful for the inspiration that allowed me to love him.

The rest of the week was still crazy. A fight broke out in the hallway outside our classroom on Wednesday between two 5-grade girls. The instigator, I learned, is one who gets into fights regularly. She is also the daughter of a prostitute, and the school found out that she has begun her own "training" to continue in that profession. It broke my heart to hear that.

On Thursday there were gunshots just a block or two away from the school, so they called a lockdown and we spent the day inside with security at all exits and walking the halls. It wasn't quite like a normal lockdown, since usually that means to sit with your student in the room with the door locked and the lights off, pretending nobody is there. The teachers said it happens too often around this school to cancel instruction for it, so we were told just to close our door and keep away from the windows. I never found out what happened outside, but we walked home at the end of the day without seeing anything, so I guess that was good.

I am hoping that next week will be calmer, but you never know. I am just grateful to still be learning as a teacher.

In the Movie of Life...

In my first college English class my professor presented us with a list of what he called "Worst Analogies Ever Written In High School Essays". Most were pretty pathetic, but one of them caught my attention:

"Her date was pleasant enough, but Kate knew that if her life were a movie this guy would be buried in the credits as something like 'Second Tall Man.'"

I disagreed with my professor then as I do now about the merit of this analogy, because I find it extremely insightful. Maybe it is a sentiment more often felt by the females of our species, because we do tend (at least my sisters and I do) to jump to conclusions about relationships and watch the credits before letting the film play out. But to this point I would have to honestly say that most of my dates have left me with similar musings. Although "Fiftieth Tall Man" would be more accurate, along with "Third Musical Man", "Seventh Pre-Law Student", "Nineteenth Blind Date", and "First (and Last) Poli-Sci Major".

The problem, I know, lies with me more than with the men in the credits. I am not sure what I am looking for, and that is probably why I haven't found it yet. The best friend, the gentlemanly rascal, the mature caretaker, and the comedian are just some of the personalities that have attracted me in the past, but somehow I think it will require a combination of these to make it as the starring male in my personal production.

Maybe I am just getting more picky in my old age? I hope not, but I have discovered that there are some characteristics about which I cannot compromise. Aside from the obviously important things like having the same values, core beliefs, and goals, being a hard worker, etc., I have decided that it is imperative that I be with someone who makes me laugh. (It isn't really that hard; I do it all the time!) Also, it is important that he appreciates music, especially mine, because that is such a central part of who I am that he couldn't know me otherwise. Now that doesn't mean that he has to be musical himself, mostly he just has to enjoy listening to me play piano on occasion. Haha, and of course he has to think I am amazing, especially on the days that I don't think so.

Lest you think me completely selfish, I can assure you that I will think my husband is the most amazing, handsome, and romantic person in the world. I look forward to devoting my days to making him happy, and yes, I have already picked out some names for our future children. :)

And I look forward to seeing his name in the credits of the movie of life, because it will be right at the top, just after the Director's.

Happy Days

Today was beautiful! 60 degrees of paradisiacal sunshine, the blessed anticipation of a long weekend, and the discovery of a new running trail were enough to make it a great day. Add to that the fact that I got a slight tint of sunburn, I sampled cheesecake at Costco (among other delicacies), and our dwelling now rivals the white house for cleanliness and let me tell you, today has been WONDERFUL! I haven't actually done any planning yet, but there are still a few hours in which to be productive. And who knows, the lack of planning lessons may have been a significant factor in the awesomeness of the day.

Today is a good day to be grateful. Most days probably are, but this one made me feel especially blessed. For one, I have a body that is capable of doing so much! And while I have often chided it for not being willing or able to do things like backflips, wakeboarding, hip hop, etc., I realized again today how wonderful it is just to be able to run! My body has been quite good to me. I used to be so frustrated that I was "cursed" with a gene that gave me decidedly large and muscular limbs, but now I just smile and say "I love my legs. They get me places!"

Another thing that I am grateful for is fruit. Those who know me, laugh if you must, but I really don't know what I would do without it. It has been a motivator, preserver, comfort, and reward in all of my travels and trials, and it is a constant source of awe to me that our Creator would provide fruits for every season of the year. Isn't it amazing that we get citrus in the winter, apples, pears, and melons in the fall, and berries, peaches, apricots in spring and summer?? That, along with marriage, is one of the daily miracles that keeps me in wonder.

And let's not forget sunshine! I have often joked that in my perfect world I would have constant sunshine combined with cool breezes, NO snow, and rain only at night. But I would be sad if I ever took sunshine for granted, so really I am happy that it comes as it does to brighten up my weeks and remind me of good things.

So those were some of my thoughts today. Happy days. :)

The Best Successes

I am learning to redefine success in the classroom, because it isn't always reflected in test scores. In fact, in this particular school it is easy to get discouraged if formal assessments are the only indicator. There are so many things that kids learn at school (most that the teacher doesn't ever create a lesson plan for) and today I wanted to write some of the best achievements.

#1 - MQ said "Thank you". MQ (name changed) is a student whose background I don't know much about, but if his behavior is any guide it isn't too hard to fill in the blanks. He comes in every day without smiling (I have only ever seen him smile once - no exaggeration), he is constantly muttering to himself ("If he do that again I gonna beat his head" and "I ain't gonna do nothin'. Y'all can't make me do nothin'"), and he rebels at the slightest correction from authority figures. He is an amazingly good student academically, but his volatile nature makes it hard for him to work with partners or in teams. My co-teacher and I try to praise every ounce of positive that we can, and we pick our battles carefully when it comes to correction, but before today I had never heard MQ respond in a positive way. It was a really simple thing: he asked for a juice and I handed him one. But he said "Thank you"!!!

#2 - TR gave me a high five. TR is a special ed student because he has extreme difficulty focusing, sitting still, being quiet, etc. Not only that, he is often defiant and last week he threw a tantrum that merited a call to security. The guard spent an hour with him before he was ready to come back into the classroom. As for his home life, I can only guess from his mother's responses to our calls ("He ain't my problem now") that there isn't a lot of support from that angle. But today my co-teacher asked him to help put the leftover milk from breakfast in the mini-fridge, and he and I spent about 5 minutes organizing it so that everything would fit. We finally arranged it so that every last milk carton had a place, and when I held out my hand for a high five he smiled and gave me one.

#3 - KS understood a math problem! We have been working on the same mathematical concept (fractional parts of a set) for an entire week, and while the concept isn't a difficult one, there are about 5 students in the class that still struggle with it. KS is one that has been extremely challenging to teach math to because she only takes in about 20% of what the teacher says, she can't read the word problems, and the pictorial representations don't make sense to her on their own. But today she solved a problem on her own, and showed correct reasoning in her problem-solving process! She was the last one to finish the math test, but she didn't give up and in the end her 3 out of 8 problems correct was a huge victory.

#4 - KV talked! KV is a good student, but the kind that you never hear. He is shy and doesn't ask questions in class, and especially with me he won't talk other than simple "yes" or "no" answers. I met his mother, a wonderfully sweet lady who is refreshingly calm in this loud and verbal environment. I have also heard a little about his father, who is in prison out of state. KV is the oldest of three boys in his family, which I would usually expect would make him more outgoing, but he keeps to himself and is definitely non-confrontational. (Note: last week the crazy French teacher whose accent, although real, reminds me of Steve Martin's in Pink Panther, wrongfully accused KV of trying to hit him during class. This teacher yelled at him in the hallway, threatening him with bodily harm if he ever tried anything again, and even threw out a threatening "I know Kung Fu!" in a way that made me want to laugh, except that I was too enraged for KV's sake. KV was shaking like a leaf and couldn't even stutter out an explanation, but we found later that the French teacher had confused him with another notorious troublemaker in the class. The French teacher never apologized.) Anyhow, today at the end of class KV asked me a question about our point system, and I was so happy and pleased to answer! He talked!!!

So those are the little successes of today. They help me at times when I am struggling to remember why on earth I ever wanted to be a teacher, because teachers don't get much pay, praise, or sleep. They help me when I am grading papers and see that 15 out of 20 students score consistently below 50%. They help me to hope for these students when hope is hard to come by.

But there is so much to hope for!

Scrabble and Me

I have a new past time, similar to my Dad playing solitaire as a nightly ritual before going to bed. His activity was slightly wiser, since solitaire lasted maybe 5 minutes on the computer, while my obsession wants at least an hour. Nevertheless, I feel justified by the fact that every time I play I learn a new word, and if I ever learn what these words mean and how to use them in real conversation then it will indeed have been time well spent.

So yes, Scrabble is my new passion. With the state of technology being such that I can carry the game with me and play it on the metro, on long walks, and even at the gym, I am now constantly on the lookout for 8-letter words (did you know you get a 50-point bonus if you use all your letters at the same time??), long-forgotten digraphs, and strange new vowel combinations. I get ridiculously excited when I get a Q or X, and I would rather give my opponent the Triple Word spot than waste it on an unworthy, one-syllabled exhibition like "pout" or "tent". I have nearly memorized the list of two-letter words provided by the Scrabble dictionary, and I spend an unreasonable amount of time looking up possibilities like "bitox" and "sourwit" (neither of which are real words).

My opponent for the first few weeks was the computer, under the pleasant alias of Norm1. We played daily and had a pretty good relationship, since I always won. He rivaled your average 10th-grader in skills, but I didn't almost graduate from college for nothing. I beat him soundly every time, with the closest margin being something like 50 points.

But even a girl gets tired of having her way all the time, so I switched Norm1 out for a foe by the name of Hard1. Our first match was grueling. I agonized over every word choice, while in seconds Hard1 came out with words I had never even heard of before that accrued him 80, 90, 100 points in a single turn. Words like "opercula" and "outjuts" mocked my intelligence, and at first I was certain that Hard1 was actually writing the Scrabble dictionary as he played. In our first match he beat me by over 100 points. The next five games ("wars" would be a better word choice in this case) were similar, and I started to miss my old companion Norm1. But I persisted, knowing that only cowards play where they are confident of victory. And one very late night my victory came.

It had been a long day at school, and a longer evening of lesson planning. After sapping every ounce of elementary-level creativity for my 4th grade classroom, I turned to Hard1 for the rejuvenation of a higher challenge. We played for an hour and a half, him pulling out words like "rostrate" and "yuga" while I trusted in well-placed classics such as "waged" and "zipper". It was getting down to the wire when I found myself in possession of "unwoven", already spelled nearly perfectly in the letters given to me. I found an ideal placement for it and the match was soon sealed in my favor! 395 to 326! I was so pleased I nearly texted my dear father to tell him of my triumph, but fortunately I chanced to look at the clock first. It was 2 am. On a school night. Curse you Hard1! It seems I can't win either way.

So after many late nights followed by many earlier mornings, Hard1 and I have settled for a more casual relationship. Instead of a desperate rivalry we are now occasional sparring partners, and I win about one time in four. My next goal is to have a dictionary app handy, so that I can discover what "betels" actually means.

Thank God for the Music

I played piano today at the Marriott on an instrument tucked away in a corner by chairs and tables. At first I was sad to be all alone, because it is always nicer to play for people. Then I realized that angels had come to listen to me play, and I thought of how Heavenly Father must have loved to listen to my music and maybe He still comes sometimes. I could feel His love especially strongly tonight, and wondered if He was nearby. I know that I was given a gift, probably to give me some way to accurately express myself. I feel close to the music and sometimes it makes me laugh (or frustrates me, depending on the day) when people talk to me while I am playing because they don't realize that I am already deeply involved in another conversation. I prefer to take off my shoes when I play because through my bare feet I can feel the pulse of the piano so much better, and the cool metal calms me if I am ever nervous. I don't sway and swing when I play like some pianists do. I follow the flow of the music and move when it does. Also, if I can I prefer to play with my eyes closed because it heightens the perceptions of my other senses and I can respond better to the music.

It amazes me how many sounds the music has. Tonight I realized that some music sounds clean, and I added that to my list of adjectives describing it. Sunshiny, rainy, powerful, sincere, bubbly, pensive... These are other ones on the list. I never expect to play a song the same way twice, because the message changes with every playing.

The closeness that I feel with music is what reminds me that there is a God. It is too celestial to be the gradual development of some animal instinct. It is a heavenly heirloom. It puts me in touch with the intangible; feelings like joy, wonder, loneliness, sorrow, and peace are just some of the feelings it presents (the ones that already have names). I once had the thought, "How could a loving (Heavenly) Father send us away without anything to remember Him by? No pictures, no postcards, no trinkets to remind us of the happy life before our mortal birth?" And then I remember the music.