A First

I have never reposted a link to another person's blog on my blog before. But when a previous professor of mine turned friend quotes me in her blog and causes me to tear up because of the eloquent way that she fit my quote into her writing I am unable to hold back from sharing.

She writes of her recent trip to the Dachau Concentration Camp.

Click Here to be moved and read her story.

Proud Parent Teacher Conferences

Last night I attended my 2nd and 5th graders’ parent teacher (& student) conferences. I didn’t exactly learn anything new about my kids; I already knew they were both kind, smart, talented, respectful and succeeding academically, but I was given the largest sense of pride a mother could receive. 

My son’s teacher, whom we do not know well, beamed with pride as she talked about giving an assignment, any assignment, and how my son listens and then successfully runs with the assignment. She shared some of his writing and beamed once again with a teacher’s pride of having a student with a large vocabulary, the ability to expand ideas in detail and write creatively. Her face could not hide what her words did not say, but previous teachers have: She would love to have a class full of students like him. I truly believe she could not have spoken with more pride unless she was his mother. 

My daughter’s teacher, whom my son had three years earlier, praised my daughter’s ability to contribute and add to classroom conversations on a variety of topics. But it was when she spoke about my daughter’s heart that I thought I saw a hidden tear of happiness and hope in her eyes. She said that my daughter has the most golden heart of any child she has ever met. I tried to take responsibility for that, talking about how I have tried to teach her that, but that even I knew that it didn’t all come from modeling, that she instinctually is a kindhearted human being. The teacher said that the way she treats and helps the students who need extra help makes her wonder why she (the teacher) is even there….she is naturally empathetic, a trait that, I, as a school counselor know is incredibly difficult to teach. And above all the students she is helping see her as a friend.

My heart is bursting with pride; every day I see how wonderful my children are, but to hear it through their teachers’ eyes makes me incredibly proud to be their mother. 

My son is as well rounded as my high school class president: smart, cute, and athletic.

My daughter is as smart, respectful and helpful as my favorite teachers growing up.

Who knew I, the average student, who failed the mile in junior high, didn’t enjoy gym class and talked her way through many classes could give birth to such amazing humans?!

Daffodils

Since having my own home and gardens I have had daffodils and have enjoyed them sprouting up in early spring, often in between snowflakes. They offer the first glimpse of spring with their bright colors of hope and rebirth.

During my visit (a year and a half ago) to the U.S. Holocaust Museum’s gift shop I was exposed to seeing daffodils in a new light: as a living symbol and tribute to the 1.5 million Jewish children who were killed in the Holocaust. The daffodil is yellow like the yellow Star of David the Jews were forced to wear and it also has six petals similar to the six points of the Jewish Star. In the gift shop, I saw and purchased a yellow and black beaded bracelet for my daughter (although after returning home I learned it was too large for her wrist and just right for mine.) They were being sold to raise funds for The Daffodil Project inAtlanta, Georgia. To learn more visit their site: http://www.daffodilproject.net 

Salusia & Milius with a nurse?

The other day the weather and timing were perfect for me to plant the 40 daffodil bulbs I had purchased to plant on the hill behind my new house. Ever since I had bought them weeks before the Daffodil Project had crossed my mind. I liked the idea of putting significance behind my daffodils. The morning of planting, hours before the actual planting, I began thinking about Salusia and Milius, my grandmother’s niece and nephew who were lost/disappeared during the Holocaust. All that was left of them, that anyone is aware of is photos with notes written on the back that my great aunt mailed to her parents in New York from Poland. Their fates remain unknown.

However, when the planting began, with my own son by my side, I forgot to think about those two sweet children I only known from photos and focused on the mosquitos, the steepness of the hill and how many 40 actually is….A LOT! But during the digging of yet another 4-5” deep hole Salusia and Milius flashed in my mind, then I hit a rock. “Aw come ON!” I dug up the rock only to discover it’s shape resembled a heart. I chose to place the rock over the bulb I planted, I may not be able to locate the rock again when the brush grows in, and hopefully the bulb will grow around it, but it was at that moment I remembered why my heart was planting 40 daffodil bulbs. 

Age is But a Number

My mother past away a few months shy of her 65th birthday. She would have loved to celebrate turning 65. See, to my mom growing older was never something she minded. (Other than the fact that her mother had alzheimer’s and she had a worry it would happen to her —dying at 64 from lung cancer she found that the positive side was that having dementia or alzheimer’s was not an option. She could find the positive in anything. As soon as she celebrated the age of whatever age was needed for a discount she proudly declared she was that age, to receive the discount of course. Hmm, so maybe it was just a good discount she appreciated.

A little over a year after she died someone I knew was celebrating their 65th birthday and when asked how they would celebrate the response was she has no plans and may just cry all day. All I could think about was how I wished my mom had a 65th birthday. 

It’s poetic to me that the American Cancer Society’s slogan is now “Official Sponsor of Birthdays”. I agree that birthdays should be celebrated, because the alternative is real and sucks.

Last month I turned 39. Just in case you were wondering.

When I was about 16 years old my mom’s boyfriend’s daughter came to live with us for a short time. I would have referred to her as my stepsister but those who know me well and from back then might wonder when my mom got married — (I did respect him like a stepfather though). Anyway, Jeannie was 30. From the moment I remember meeting her I remember thinking that now that 30 had a face to me it wasn’t old at all. She was hip, cool and fun. 

When I was 22 I worked with a few 40 year olds who also gave me a face letting me know that 40 was no old. In fact, 40 is confident, knowledgeable and also fun. It’s Josephine’s face that sticks out in my mind though, she was a naturally, confident, talented beautiful woman. There was only one thing that set her apart from Pam, another confident, talented beautiful and fun 40 year old woman who I worked with and who I actually felt more connected with. Josephine wore no makeup. Not a brush of eyeliner that I recall or lipstick. 

I have never been a big fan of makeup, maybe in opposition that my mom wouldn’t leave the house until “her face was on”. There was a clear moment in my mind that I thought to myself when I am 40 I want to be confident enough in my appearance to not wear makeup. This morning, at 39 and a few weeks old I looked into the mirror and saw extremely tired eyes looking back. I put on makeup to try to cover it up all while in my head I knew that the only way to truly cover them up is to get more sleep. Most days I do, indeed, go out of the house with no makeup on, especially in the summer, but more often than not I put on a little eyeliner and shadow. 

My goal for the year, something I have just now consciously decided, is to get more sleep. Enough talking and thinking about it, now is the time for me to do it. Because when I’m 40 I want to be a younger woman’s Josephine….especially if it’s my daughter’s.