To Grow, Write

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“I don’t get your blog.” Oh, the honesty of a 20-year-old! He is a former student of mine, and our relationship is one built on sarcasm and criticism – offered lovingly, of course.

“I’m writing for myself.”

With no words, his puzzled expression seemed to ask: Then why are you sharing it?

In truth, it’s a fair question. Why in the world would a mother with two children under the age of three spend hours each week writing – when the demands of the house and the career never cease?

Quite simply, I am on a journey of reconciling my story.

With the blog, I am accountable.

With the blog, I am honest.

With the blog, I can’t escape myself.

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A Mother Nose

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On most days, parenthood feels like the dying of oneself. Life no longer revolves around you or your own independent decisions. Instead, you will likely find yourself last on the priority list at the close of each day. This does, however, offer a most amazing peace: your children are alive and you lived another day to bask in their glow.

I was experiencing the euphoria of this moment just before bed one night last week. It was approximately 10:00 p.m., and I was ecstatic about an early (at least for me) bedtime.

As I turned off our living room’s final light, I glanced at the rug that my children frequent during the busy hours of day. The toys, in classic toddler fashion, were strewn around the room. Make a note of that slide, I reminded myself.

As I completed the excited tango of a careful mother in the dark, it struck me. No, literally, our wooden doorframe struck me. Crack! My nose had failed in its attempt to move the wall.

Two doctor appointments and three x-rays later, the verdict was less than amusing: a likely fracture. I may have even laughed at myself if my face hadn’t been hurting so badly.

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A Raisin in the Son

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They were the words all mothers hope they never have to hear: “I stick a raisin up my nose!”

And so began my first week back in the saddle of employment.

I would be lying if I said my return to the working world was smooth, rested, and joyous. To be honest, most things have an edge of sour when you are not sleeping well. For as excited as I was to teach young people again, I could easily recognize the compounding stress of a full-time job lurking in the shadows.

My toddler son’s triumphant announcement echoed in my ears until the great raisin extraction ensued three hours later.

Expect the unexpected, they say.

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