little curator…

So quiet you arrived
Gentle curls and stunning blue eyes that searched… Observed and took it all in…

Your soft spokenness grew to excited sharing..eyebrows raised, sparkles in your eyes like fireflies dancing on a summers eve

Your gentle quiet nature a comfort to your friends
Gathered close…bent noggins to hear your amazing ideas…kept in inventory inside your own museum…

Artifacts like treasure you collect in your heart…fossils of the brief years you carry and the many years to come

Taller you have grown…your voice more commanding yet still sweet…treasuring your days as your history grows

I smile … thankful to have taught you and learned from you…stay gentle little curator…

…the journey

I am a work in progress… I am aware that I am a work in progress… I am choosing to be an active participant in this process of growth.

Owning that I am a work in process is part of my growth… It’s a journey…we are all on one. There are times when I have kicked and screamed along the way, I can remember times of gripping onto the doorframe as the current of this journey insisted I be propelled forward despite my protest…so many times I have been perfectly content to set up camp… make my air bed nice and cozy, build a stunning fire and settle in. This I know is a coping mechanism…I recall many times in my life that I have tried this strategy. One time in particular, I was sharing with a close and dear friend who told me with some degree of sternness and a whole lot of love: I see and hear how you are feeling right now and I am so sorry you are in this place, however, you may NOT set up camp here. You must pack up the tent and collect yourself… gather what you need and move forward. Your journey is about growing… ‘wave to the folks in that town… ’cause you’re just passing through’, she said. She checked in on me by phone, via email and in person throughout this trying time to be certain I had travelled safely through this town I thought for sure was to be my next place of residence. She loved me, she encouraged me, she saw things that I did not see.

Along this journey, I have gathered certain tools I thought were helpful but am now growing to know that I may also stop using tools that are no longer working for me. This is NOT easy! (Added to the list of things I am working on) . After all, it’s hard to be a work in progress…

I look at it this way… I am thankful for my knowing … I want to be a part of my growth, to encourage and love myself… I want to do my best to be the light Jesus intends for me to be…

I am a work in progress… and today I am encouraged.

Take time today to think about where you are at in your own journey… we are ALL on one…Are you pitching your tent in a town you should just be passing through ? Are you holding the doorframe as the flood of the current rushes through?

I would encourage you to embrace your journey … It’s YOURS! Be kind to yourself, allow yourself grace… ask for help when you need it and cry when you need to… When trusted others seek to assure you and help you ‘un’ pitch your tent… Let them… We all need one another… and when you find a tool in your box that isn’t working anymore… toss it out the window on your way outta Dodge!

somethiing amazing for a Monday

…i wonder

i wonder lots of things in a day…some of them deep and thoughtful, some just pretty amusing…a peek into my wonders for today:

as i lay here in our family bed surrounded by my sleeping littles, I wonder if they know with certainty how much I love them…

…i also wonder will my daughter vomit all night tonight as she did last night…

as my husband tirelessly searches for a way to unlock my stored iphoto library so i may email some needed photos to my children’s ministry leader…i wonder if he realizes how much i appreciate him…

as i spent an hour navigating through the automated phone system at our mortgage lender today i wondered…will i EVER speak to a flipping customer service rep??

and at the same time i wondered why the automated voice was assuming humanistic qualities by saying, “let’s see if we can find someone to help ‘US’ “now that freaked me out just a tad!

each time i look at this photo of my then 2.5 year old daughter holding this fragile bubble in her hands i wonder…how is she now almost 12?

what’s on your ‘wonder list’?

…are those mens’ pants you are wearing?

the fear? BALLOONS!  the reason? flashback!  I am three years old and am running at top speed BANG! right at my heels  BANG! Just ahead of me…I pause for a minute and look back and BANG! at my feet again…the culprit?  my seven year old brother and a box of snap caps…the ones that surely are comprised of a smidge of explosive gunpowder wrapped up in a delicate little package…that when you throw them to the ground…BANG!

It only gets better from there…a little bit older and it was lit m-80’s.  As an adult, I have a serious phobia of balloons. Yes it is true, just ask my children.  I used to tell them I was allergic so they wouldn’t think of bringing them near me. Now, they know the whole story.

These days I try to be brave.  A dearest friend was having an open house at her bakery a few weeks back and she asked if I could order and pick up some helium balloons.  I took a deep breath and called the local grocery store and ordered four helium balloons.  I truly expected that they would be of regular size.  You know the ones, about the size of a child’s head. Well guess what?!  Much to my horror, these balloons were almost three times the size of my own head!  And here I was in the market, I had to hold them and attempt to look non-commitable as I waited in line to purchase them.  I must have looked quite interesting…four hunormous pink and red stalkers, looming dangerously close to my delicate ears.  I cringed the whole time as I leaned my head to one side in case they popped…my left hand stretched up and stiff in order to keep them as far away from me as possible.  I talked quietly to myself and continued to try to go to my happy place.  That’s when it happened…a very jolly elderly gentleman behind me in line struck up a conversation and if you can believe it, it had nothing to do with the balloons.  I was shocked.  He began asking questions about…my jeans…drawstring tie, boot cut…’just like the ones I was issued in the Navy!’ he said, ‘are those men’s pants?’   ‘why no…Unionbay Jeans…for women’ I assured him as I smiled, accepting his kind compliment to how I fit into them.  Seriously?  And it did not stop there.  In his effort to comfort me I suppose, he piped up to the rather amused cashier that he had just seen me floating across the nearest town…and then he asked if I would like help getting them to the car…in the event my feet leave the ground as I stepped outside.  ‘I think I’m all set’ and ‘thank you though’ I kindly replied.

The distress did not end there…we had a carful of our family and really no place for the balloons.  We crammed them in, (my husband crammed them in as I cringed on the opposite side of the car, sure they would all pop then and there…but they didn’t.  It took a bit but at last they were in…limiting my ability to see.  And then I drove…slightly hysterical that one would surely pop and I would veer the car into oncoming traffic!  To top it off, I had to stop at two places prior to arriving at the bakery.  On the first stop, while I was fetching something from another nearby market, one of the balloons popped, leaving one child crying and slightly hard of hearing.  I thanked God in heaven I was not in the car when it happened and offered condolences to my son…(not that he could hear me).

One more stop and then we made it to the bakery where I leaped out of the car as soon as I put it in park. I implored my husband to remove them from the car and to tie them on the building sign outside of the bakery.  He graciously did so…I was so thankful!

Needless to say, the open house was fun and a success and still somewhat overshadowed by the sheer terror of those larger than life balloons…
Funny how our childhood sometimes dictates our life as an adult!  Made me think honestly about my own children…how much I love them and how funny they think it is that their Mama is scared of balloons!  I also thought about the love and faithfulness I have for my friend…a love that gave me the courage to face my fear of balloons. I would love to say I won the battle…at the very least, it provided me with some humor to write this post!

…through the looking glass

It is like the window at the local candy making store…a view into the mind.  It is only me behind that glass…all of the equipment and machines and conveyor belts cranking out the candy faster than I can possibly box it appropriately.  Usually I can handle it all with ease, moving with grace from one task to the other like dancers from Swan Lake…composed and calculated and getting the job done.  Then there are those moments.  The moments when I am frantic, chocolate smeared across my brow, and the famous scene from Lucille Ball cues up.

There is nervous and anxious energy that hangs in the air…I want desperately to gain composure in my mind, to organize, to reach once again, my familiar state of comfortable chaos. I am certain that everyone around me can see the distress playing out in my mind.  I search for a way to distract others from discovering my franticness.  I ask questions that I may already know the answer to, a stalling tactic of sorts…I fidget and look around for an external distraction that will surely reset my ability to gain internal composure. As I have said before, I cannot do one thing unless I am doing two.  I have to engage both engines in order to take off…I am not a single engine plane.  It is double or nothing.  So I search for that filler to cover my nervous energy, a distraction in order to fill the time… the awkward silence.  If you look close enough in this moment in time, a glimpse may be seen of my coattails as I dive down the rabbit hole on my latest tangent thought or genius idea.

A second or ten later, I am recomposed, put back together and ready to move forward.  The view through the looking glass is much different now…all machines are running smoothly and all of the boxes of chocolate are neatly packaged with crisp satin ribbon.  I have pulled myself together and am now able to attend to the real conversation that is happening.

This is a difficult characteristic about my ADHD…I feel anxious and ashamed at the thought that others really can see the inner workings of my mind and assume that the chaos they see is a sign of inadequacy, of lack of intelligence, or disorganization.  Is this realistic…perhaps not.  I have over time, developed various strategies that minimize the visibility of this scenario for me.  It takes time, it takes growth, it takes trust and a lot of the time it takes a little humor!

in search of peace…just ask a preschooler!

I am a teacher of preschoolers…I work alongside an amazing team of teachers…we love, nurture and grow the leaders of today…and tomorrow, we encourage the writers, the artists, the musicians, the poets…we bandage future doctors and counsel future lawyers…we empower the beauty that is each child that we care for.

Over the past Summer we held a Peace Camp and each group was charged with writing a song about peace. We wrote about what peace is, where you may find it and how you may share it.  Here is the song that was composed by my group of children that in honor of MLK Jr. I have posted here in poetry form.  As you read it, may you feel the strength and power of the words spoken by 3-5 year olds.  May you be enlightened to hear the hundred languages they speak…

LET’S TALK ABOUT PEACE!

Let’s talk about PEACE
…and what it is….

Peace is singing!
Peace is my Mama!
Peace is a circle of friends…
Peace is petting my cat!
Peace is happiness and being with my friends!
Peace is playing…
Peace is a heartbeat…
Peace is hugging!
…and catching a fish!

Let’s talk about PEACE
…and where we find it….

Peace can be found…in the earth!
Peace can be found…in our hearts!
Peace can be found…in Mama’s hug!
Peace can be found…in my Daddy’s arms!
Peace can be found…in a good book!
Peace can be found…in my Mom’s heart!
Peace can be found…in the world!
Peace can be found…in our family…

Let’s talk about PEACE
…and how we share it….

We share Peace by playing with each other nicely…
We share Peace through sharing…
We share Peace with hugs…
We share Peace  by sharing your heart…
We share Peace by hugging people when they are hurt…
We share Peace by using kind words…
We share Peace in a smile…
We share Peace by showing love to people in all kinds of ways…

Let’s talk about PEACE and what it is, where to find it, how to share it…
Let’s talk about PEACE…      Summer 2011

what is your dream…

…what is your dream?  Martin Luther King Jr. had a dream.  It was an amazing dream that has essentially changed everyone’s lives in some way.  As I write this, I am watching the PBS documentary about the life of MLK with my two beautiful coffee milk hued boys.  We are trying to make sense together of the events that took place just a couple of years shy of my own emergence into this world.  My discussion with them consists mainly of answering their questions… ‘Mama what is the KKK?’  ‘Mama why were people so angry at the brown people?’  ‘what was the burning cross Mama?’ with frequent interjections from my ‘non-fiction’ reporting five year old such as ‘Martin Luther King Jr. did not like fighting Mama.  He was a peaceful man’  and ‘the people stopped riding the buses Mama’.

We talk about purpose…my nine year old looks at me with a worried wrinkle between his eyes…’James Earl Ray didn’t have that Mama’.  I agree.  ‘If he had a better life Mama, if someone cared about him, then Martin would be alive to this day Mama!’  He says this to me with such strong belief in his voice.  We talk about what we have learned through the amazing preschool in which I spend my days.  We discuss how everyone makes bad choices sometimes and how we need to love people, to show others kindness and help them to make better choices…to turn it around.  How we help others and encourage others.

“…it was his way of life” is what one of Martin’s followers said.  ‘Non-violence, non-retaliation…Peace was his way of life.’
My daughter says, ‘He was a role model for all of us…if it weren’t for him we would not be together.’
MLK Jr. was a man who spoke from his heart.  He did not ask the question about what would happen to him if he did not help someone…he asked what would happen to the person he did not help.  I really work to live with this in my heart.  I strive each day to help others as best I can, to give the best of myself to help and encourage others that I encounter in my life.  My daughter often asks me to tell her the story about the woman I met in a shopping mall in South Africa.  While visiting my husband and his family, I went to a local mall with a friend.  I noticed as we pulled in, a woman that appeared to be not far from my age.  Her face weathered, the heaviness of her heart evident…the love for the barely clad baby in her arms so big I could feel it.  Her despair as evident as the beautiful blue african sky.  I had gone to the mall to find a few things to bring back to my family in Maine.  I used the money that I had to purchase three bags of items.  I bought diapers and wipes, washcloths and soap among other toiletries.  I also purchased cans of formula, clean water, baby bottles and clothing.  I added on bread and peanut butter and milk and many other food items.  I left the mall, walked to this woman and her beautiful baby and respectfully handed the items to her.  She wept and humbly accepted my small offering. She shook her head and questioned somewhat frantically what she could possibly do for me.  I looked lovingly at her and asked could I please just hold her baby for a moment.  She smiled and placed this most precious gift of hers in my arms.  I cuddled and smiled at this infant and poured as much love into her as I could in the moment that I held her.  I will never forget that encounter as long as I live.

In the words of my five year old…Martin said ‘I have a dream that someday, ALL of God’s children will hold hands together…’

So…what is your dream?
* above is a painting gifted to our family by our Pastor’s amazing daughter Jess…

…anyone know what that frozen thing is on the front lawn?

I have to say that I cringe when the weather gets chilly enough to merit wearing socks…I have 3-4 pair that I only look for a few months out of the entire year. Usually I know where they are and can locate them on days I need them.   My children on the other hand, have more pairs than I can count and they can never seem to find them.  This goes beyond the sock monster…the dryer ate them…they are balled up under the couch.  Apparently my children have inherited my distaste for socks.  I personally do not like them because if my feet are hot then I am unhappy.  I have a sensory dislike for socks. I take them off the first chance I get!   I think my body thermostat is in my feet.  (and there goes my ADHD brain playing the soundtrack of all of the funny quips I have heard in my life about my feet that are not unusually large by the way but an 8.5 U.S. or 36 UK).  When I was younger I recall my maternal Grandfather suggesting I just wear the shoeboxes!  He was also the one who asked me if I paid full price for the bathing suit I had purchased as a teenager because “clearly they left off half of the material”! Shout out to you Papa from whom I know contributed greatly to the person I am today!
Now there’s the Kimberly we all know…Ritalin not quite kicked in and full throttle on the shiny thing quotient!

And in the words of Paul Harvey, who I remember vividly listening to as I grew up…and NOW…the rest of the story…

Socks!  Back to socks!  My husband is the only one who can find his socks in our house.  Reason being?  He wears them 365 days a year…that’s just who he is.  My three children and I on the other hand…not so much.  Only in the coldest of months and certainly not longer in the day than we have to.  So as the cold weather approaches and socks aren’t entirely an option, the race begins.  I actually get sock anxiety at night wondering if I will find  the six appropriate socks in the morning to usher the three off to school. We should have a routine for this…but we don’t.  You see, the girl likes hers to match…not necessarily in color but in height.  She usually waits until we are almost out the door to look.  My first born son on the other hand will do anything he can to go without and doesn’t much care what they look like.  My second born, beloved five year old on the other hand is quite particular about the height and fit of his socks.  “they feel udgy, squishy!” he says while making a face and shaking his legs…he doesn’t care if they match, they just have to fit.  That is until the other day when he wore a pair of Daddy’s socks to school.  I confess that I pointed out to the teacher that greeted us at school that he had chosen them all by himself…the heel of the socks midway to his knees and the top of them well over the knee.  The teacher giggled.  Daddy was honored.  I was proud of my son for tolerating such a wonky pair of socks!
Can you relate to the sock drama?
Needless to say, I am thrilled to have a long weekend and at least three days to forgo the sock anxiety…
Here is the lovely picture that inspired this post that I dedicate to my first born and most amazing son, Thando! Hey look!  It is one of his socks…frozen solid on the front lawn!
I would also like to add a tribute to Paul Harvey…his ability to speak in pictures…my ADHD brains dream.  I could listen to a broadcast of his without distraction, always anticipating a quip near the end of his broadcast, his familiar chuckle and lastly…

‘Good Day’! (click to see video)

…growing hearts part II

As some of you may know, I am the proud vessel of a quirky brain!  I have been working diligently to appreciate the beauty of ADHD and the role it plays in my life.  Part of being me is having a very busy brain…think large airport like LAX or better yet (and more imaginable) Trader Joe’s.  I find that when I have a lot to do, I cannot prioritize by importance, for instance, I have much work to do for the preschool conferences that begin next week.  This is what I should be doing at this very moment in fact, however, this is not how my brain operates.  Since last night, I was feeling pressed to write a post…which I did this morning. My brain was full…overflowing with the need to get it into evernote and on my blog. You see, I refer to this affectionately as brain spill.  If I do not spill it in writing, talking etc, it sits there.  (that is actually funny because the word sit implies some sense of stillness…far from the truth.) It stands in my frontal lobe actually and jumps up and down until I am so distracted that I have no choice but to address it so I can move forward with anything else.  I have found that if I choose not to honor this about myself, then things go awry…I become more and more scattered, accident prone and just plain no fun to be around.  A dear co-teacher  of mine has been speaking into this area of my life as me whether she knows it or not.  She has been guiding me to be more kind to me.  To honor and respect the Kimberly that she sees when she looks at me…  That being said, Here I am to finish the blog I started this morning so I can then move on to my conference report writing with focus and purpose.  It is kind of like sorting what is at the front of your closet because if you don’t, how can you effectively sort whats further in…makes sense!  Clearing the way a bit so you have more room…you with me? Anyone?

In continued honor of Martin Luther King Jr. and his amazing spirit, I want to share a story of my daughter who is now a beautiful eleven year old. (I knew from the moment she ‘came out of my belly’ that she would grow me in ways I would never imagine!)

My daughter who came home crying of heartbreak when she learned about the history of slavery and more as we shared with her the history of apartheid. When she was nine years old, in the fourth grade, she was studying ‘brown’ history and literature. (brown and cream…get it?  People’s skin is shades of brown…)  They had focused on the poetic works of Langston Hughes.  My daughter wrote the following poem in response to her learning.  This was published in the school newsletter at the time and has since been published in a collection of literary student works.

Come Now People of Color

Come now,
People of color,
for one day we’ll be free of slavery.

Come all people with chai colored skin, coffee colored skin,
And skin as light as caramel.

People come with dark skin
The color of a brownie.

People with cinnamon skin and skin the color
Of sweet, sweet ginger.

Come people from cotton fields and listen
To the stories about the Underground Railroad and how people got to
Canada for freedom.

Come now, those with skin the color of sweet
Butterscotch and those whose eyes are as black as the evening sky.

Come now, for one day you will be free.
Until then, come and listen to my stories.
Come now, people of color.
~Z. Mngqibisa (authored at age 9)

Let us all take time EVERY DAY …not just on a day in January, to remember, honor and grow a little from the amazing power of those who stand for peace and for freedom.  May you be one of those people, may you know that YOU make a difference…and may your heart grow…