Belated Thanks

Admist the chaos of hosting Thanksgiving, of sick babies and a home that weathered the storm of many house guests and an enormous feast, there has seemingly been little time to really reflect - like really, really reflect - on all that I am thankful for. My life is so unbelievably blessed, it is so much better than I ever pictured, and there is much, much to be thankful for.

For beautiful baby boys whose eyes and smiles and babbles I am wholly addicted to. Like seriously addicted to.

For a husband whose patience never runs dry and who at the drop of a hat will run out and buy me a Blizzard just because he loves me.

For a sister and a brother who hold all my stories - the good, the bad, and the ugly - and who despite the stories, or maybe because of them, still love me and support me fiercely.

For my nearest and dearest friends who do things like talk me gently through labor, bring me Chai at work, spend Fridays off with me and my babies, bring me and my family dinner (especially plates of sinful brownies), and remind me everyday that "this too shall pass."

And perhaps most poignantly of all, for my mother, who exactly 50 years ago today boarded a plane at the age of 15, leaving behind her parents, her home, her school and friends, her language, her food, her pet bunny, and her childhood beaches, all for a chance at education and free thought; who never looked back at what could have been and instead always looked forward at what could be; who despite loss that would paralyze most of us, forged ahead and modeled resliency, optimism and passion; whose love of teaching lives on in her daughters, and whose love for her children and grandchildren knows no bounds...I am so, so thankful.

This is for you, mom, to remind you of what you started exactly 50 years ago today by stepping on that plane, by taking a chance, and by believing in the GOOD in EVERYONE. Your GOOD lives on in your babies and your grandbabies. Don't ever forget it.

Poetry

Yesterday afternoon I realized I was stuck - stuck in between units at school and no idea what to do with a day and half of time before sending my students out the door for Thanksgiving Break.

Instead of jumping head first into teaching the ins and outs of satire, which happens to be right up my ally, I decided to create an activity based on those word magnets people often keep on their fridges. You know, the ones you can move around to say stuff like "She likes it in her ear" or "Big daddy loves fish" or "Want to jump me?"

So I sat down at my computer and came up with a list of words (all appropriate, although I was tempted by the dark side) for students to cut out and then arrange into a poem - a Thanksgiving poem. I was so excited because I just knew my students were going to LOVE it. They were going to be enthralled from the beginning of class to the end. They were going to ask to do it again and again and again...

...and then I hand out the assignment and the snarky girl in the back (who is the perfect example of why I am paid lots and lots of money) says, "Is this supposed to be fun?"

"No, butthole," I say (inside, of course). "It isn't."

"Yes," I say, for reals. "It is supposed to rock your world."

After all, it rocked mine. See...



And as I looked across the room at my other students, it appeared to rock theirs.

So kiss it, snarky girl. Kiss it. Mrs. Smith is a genius.

Where's my award?

Inspired

I am feeling sentimental. And tired and overwhelmed and a little bit nostalgic. And in the midst of all that, I am also feeling a bit inspired. Admist this exhaustion that comes from a baby who will not sleep for longer than two hours at a time, I am feeling a sense of appreciation for all those who have done this before me and I have been inspired to just say this...

There lies deep within every woman the instinct to nurture, to raise, and to protect.

I am inspired by MOTHERHOOD, literally and figuratively.

…by my grandmother, who placed her children on a plane to escape the terrors of communism on her little Caribbean Island, not knowing if she would ever see them again, but knowing their freedom was worth dying for.

…by my mother, who was my father as well, who raised her three children with the core belief that wealth exists in experiences not materials, whose love continues to guide, carry, and inspire me today.

…by my sister, nine years my elder, who was always more than she ever had to be, and whose unwavering love, commitment and resilience now shines in the blue eyes and golden hair of her daughter.

…by my best friend, who shared her babies with me when I was so desperate to have my own, who models selflessness and patience and has proven family has never been about DNA.

…by my students, who made me a mother before my sons were born, who taught me the power of innocence, curiosity, and laughter.

…and most importantly, by my boys - one who I carried in my heart, the other who I carried in my belly - who despite the different paths were always meant to be mine, and who remind me to be better, to do more, and to live with purpose because everybody is somebody’s baby.

I am inspired by MOTHERHOOD in every sense of the word. For the mother that lies within us all, and for the children who so desperately need our care and praise, I am INSPIRED.