I felt like I should follow up on my post about teaching my kiddos and how much I love them and love my job and want to make a difference in their little lives.

I've failed this week to see that bigger picture.

No matter how much you love teaching, you will still have times where you reach the end of your patience. I tend to be a very patient person. I have a slow burning fuse and rarely lose my temper. I have other faults that more than make up for  my limited struggle with anger.

But this job has shown me that there is a definite limit to my patience.

Almost in response to my post last week about my job, God sent a very challenging week with my kids. Usually the challenge culminates at naptime.  Two kids haven't been sleeping at naptime. There are many reasons for this, the main one is that some  parents don't think about the ramifications of letting their kiddos sleep all morning and then bringing them to school later than usual. When you work with 18 year old parents of two and three year old kids, they aren't the most educated or experienced on the value of routine and structure.  If it was just one or two children at a home with their parents or a babysitter, it would not be a big deal. But when you have eight that are trying to sleep and one wants to play or cry or scream during that time, it becomes a study in the limits of longsuffering for the teacher.

I have to admit I can handle just about anything else during the course of a day of teaching preschoolers except this. I pray the whole time that I can control my voice and be gentle when I put the child back in his bed for the 14,672nd time. I pray I can relax so that he will relax. I try to speak in Spanish instead of English because I can control my tone better when I have to concentrate on my words. I think I've got everything under control, and then another child wakes up because of the constant commotion and I feel the anger start to rise.

I know the restless child doesn't understand that he is waking up his friends that are sleeping. I know it's not necessarily his fault that he's not tired. I know all the tricks - massage, soft singing, rubbing and patting patterns, constant pressure, stroking thier hair. But you don't understand until you're at that point the limits of your patience.

Today, once I was relieved by my coteacher and going to my lunch break, I put in my iPod and turned it to the first song that came on. I just needed to not hear kids for a while. I needed to calm down. This song came on, and I immediately burst into tears.

If You washed away my vanity,
If You took away my words,
If all my world was swept away,
Would You be enough for me?
Would my beating heart still sing?

When my life is not what I expected;
The plans I made have failed.
When there's nothing left to steal me away,
Will You be enough for me?
Will my broken heart still sing?

If I lost it all
Would my hands stay lifted
to the God who gives and takes away?
If You take it all,
This life You've given,
Still my heart will sing to You.

Even if You take it all away
You'll never let me go.
Take it all away and I'll still know
That I'm still Yours.

I have a emotional attachment to this song because I listened to it a lot when we moved here. When I missed my family and friends and my job. When I was looking for work and feeling the constant rejection from potential employers and the increasing self-doubt that accompanies that search. When I struggled to understand new things and a new culture. When I wasn't there for important events in my "old life."

I get so set on what I want to happen in my day. I want my kids to be good, to learn what I'm trying to teach them, to love me. I want it all to go as I've planned and I forget Whose hands hold me and Who directs the events of my day and circumstances of my life. I forget that while I'm teaching my kids, God is teaching me. And maybe what He's teaching me is more important that things going my way today. Maybe me becoming more like Christ is more important than this child taking a nap, and learning His patience and endurance more glorifying to Him than my comfort or satisfaction. Perhaps God has a purpose after all.

A group of our friends got together and made a day trip to Napa, specifically the Calistoga area. It was a gorgeously perfect  day full of beautiful scenery, great food, bocce ball, and of course, lots of fun with friends.

I have to stop and talk about the photo above. This dog seemed to know that it was picture time, because as soon as we all lined up for a group photo, she came up and promptly exposed all her three-legged glory for us and the rest of the world. That's probably why we're all laughing in the picture.

The following photos fulfill my promise to post pictures of certain individuals on my blog. =)

I love Valentine's Day.


I can't help it.


I've always loved it. I loved it when I was in a relationship and when I wasn't. I think one reason for this was that my mom and dad always made sure all of us kids had a little present and card on Valentine's. It was a reminder from them that no matter what, I was loved. Now I still love it because Marc consistently makes me feel like the most loved wife on the planet, especially on Valentine's Day.


So I'll take this Valentine's Day to celebrate my love: Marc.


He's my perfect opposite, and yet we are alike in so many strange ways. He is "type A," intelligent, competitive, and confident. I'm more "type B" with not a competitive bone in my body. He likes team sports like soccer and football. I like individual activities like running and yoga. He's a businessman, I teach young children. He likes projects, I like to read. We both prefer action movies and love good food of all kinds. We both love to travel and lead active lives. We're are both independent, sometimes to a fault. We both enjoy the adventure of the future.

When people asked me how I knew Marc was "the one" for me. I always said "because he's the only guy who hadn't told me I was perfect." From the beginning, Marc wasn't afraid to confront me when I was being ridiculous, rude, nearsighted, or sinful. He didn't treat me like a fragile crystal glass that would break at the slightest touch. He didn't bend to my every whim or let me boss him around. He knew that sometimes I was full of myself and needed to be put in my place.


But Marc also knows how to love me best. He knows that I love surprises, thoughtfulness, spontaneity, and when he takes charge. He knows when I need to talk something out and when I just need a really big hug. He takes me out to dinner even when he's sick of going out.  He knows I enjoy some time alon and doesn't get offended by it. He listens when I talk about things he's not interested in, and gently reassures me when I'm at my breaking point of frustration with the unpredictable and demanding nature of his job.

He's the best. He loves me. And he's mine.


Happy Valentine's Day, Marc. I love you.

Today at work I was overwhelmed with love for my kiddos. This has happened many times before in this job and the previous one I had in Greenville. When you work with young children, you will have many moments where your eyes brim to overflowing with tears of love, empathy, and protectiveness.


(Just a note, please don't leave any "just wait 'til you have your own" comments. I know, I know. 
Let me have my moment.)


I'm speaking as a teacher. One who invests her lives in other people's children for their benefit. One who works, hopes, and most importantly, prays that the children and families she serves will somehow be better because of her influence, her sweat, her tears on their behalf. 


As a teacher, I have worked mostly with "less fortunate" children: children born with special needs and/or various family, financial, physical, and circumstantial challenges. I haven't really worked with what most would term "mainstream" children.


Does this make my career more difficult? No. More emotionally draining? Maybe. More rewarding? Yes.


I get to see families and their children conquer challenges that seem impossible -  finding help for a physical or genetic challenge that God has given them and being able to both rise above it as well as inspire others. Or it could be a family who really just hit hard times, or came from a rough background, but instead of wallowing in self-pity and depending on the government to carry them from infancy to retirement, they go back to school, back to work, and make life better for themselves and their children.


Wow, do I love my job.


The simple reason for this outpouring of teacherly emotion rests in the following scene from my Friday. A scene which is not unlike many of my days.


It's nap time. The best time of the day. Most of the children are already asleep. My baby girl is softly snoring in her crib. She's had a cold, so listening to her heavy, congested breathing has become a habitual part of my naptime routine - if she gets too raspy, I'll go and turn her a little so she can breathe easier. My new little girl has fallen asleep perfectly. Now it is just me and my buddy. He's my speech-delayed little red-headed fireball. He's my helper - always wanting to take something to the trash can, help someone put on their shoes, or help me clean up. He periodically has to check in with me for a hug or a tickle. He's been having a rough time at home. His parents are splitting up after a long several months of fighting. He's going back and forth between three homes several times a week. He gets dropped off by one person and picked up by another. Both of his parents are trying to go to school, work full-time, save money, pay the bills, and care for him. It's a lot. It really affects him. While by far he doesn't have the toughest story at our school, he has the toughest story in his life, so that makes it important.
He used to sleep on his bed by himself - I barely even needed to pat his tiny  18-month old back and he would be off in dreamworld. But that was before his little world fell apart. A world he found security in, but can't find words to express how he feels about it i him. Lately he's been starting naptime in his bed and while I sit beside him, he gradually works himself into my lap. First it's his little curly red head on my lap, then his upper body, then before I know it, he's sprawled out along the length of my legs - which although not long themselves are still longer than his entire body. Today he gets into "position" and with a long sigh, puts his little hands under his head and falls fast asleep. I put my arms around my little guy and sigh too, and then I feel a lump in my throat and the tears start coming.
Why should this little boy have such a difficult life? Why should he already know more family turmoil than I have in my entire life? Why can't I protect him from hurt? Why can't I just hug it all away?


I've asked myself the same questions in the past: Why can't I "fix" this child so they won't have to live with autism the rest of their lives? Why can't I make this baby with spina bifida walk on his own? Why can't I help this baby eat without a feeding tube? Why can't I stop this little girl from being rejected, abused, and neglected by the very people who brought her into the world?


I can't.


But here's what I can do right now. I can hug my little red head close and let him sleep in my lap whether or not he's too old for it. I can try to teach him to talk so he can verbalize his feelings and observations. I can love him and all my other kiddos as much as possible, even when it hurts my heart to love them so much.

Most people who know me know that I LOVE The Pioneer Woman. I've been reading her blog for about three years and still check it pretty much every day for updates. I got her cookbook for Christmas in 2009 and have thoroughly enjoyed it. Recently she published her second book, The Pioneer Woman: Black Heels to Tractor Wheels. She had to go on tour for that book and came to San Francisco this week. It was really fun to actually be living in a city that a semi-famous-person-I -really-would-love-to-meet actually came to.


Several ladies at my church share my love for Ree Drummond, so we all met up to attend her book signing.

We weren't really sure what to expect: does she really have a following in the Bay Area? I mean, PW cooks with truckloads of butter, cream, and meat (she lives on a working cattle ranch, for goodness sakes)...not things you find a lot in San Francisco cuisine. And she doesn't make a big deal about being all organic, local, etc., so would that turn people off?


Apparently not.


We arrived at the book store about 45 minutes before the event was to begin, and there were already well over 200 people there. That number grew to fill seemingly every inch of the bookstore. They were going to have a meet-and-greet / question and answer time and then start the signing.

It was really fun to hear her talk about her marriage, her A fame, and her love for the simple things in life. It was also really exciting to be around people who had spent time reading her blog. It was a strange sense of camaraderie  with the other women.


After the question and answer time, we settled in for the long wait to get our books signed and pictures taken with Ree. The signing began about 7:45, and we got up to the table at almost 10:30. It was a very long evening (not to mention none of us had eaten dinner!), but PW was so gracious and sweet to every single person who came up to meet her. I have to admit, when I had my turn, I didn't know what to say. But she was very open and gracious and looked past my fumbling, signed my books, and and took a picture with me. We actually took it with two cameras, and in each photo one of us is looking at the wrong one...

We then took a photo as a group - to cap off a fun evening of girl talk and fasting. And because I said I would, I will name my friends from left to right: Me, Leah, Ree Drummond (!!!), Katherine, Clara, Rebekah, and Sophie.

So we have a new niece.


What?


Did you think this post was about us? Ha! 


Sorry Mom and Dad. You'll have to wait.


Grace Elizabeth Winston was born on January 20 at 9:19a. She weighed 6 pounds, 2 ounces, and was 20 inches long. I'm really glad I have my brother-in-law's email to confirm these stats, because for the life of me, I can never remember these things.

Grace is a miracle. She is a testament to God's faithfulness and sustaining strength. She is proof (although we don't need proof) of the ability of God to conquer seemingly impossible circumstances.


I haven't met her yet, but I know she'll be very special to all of us.

As many of you know, Grace's joyful arrival was preceded by a deep, dark time of trial and sorrow. Our nephew, Reuben Samuel was born on November 1 very early in his gestation and survived less than an hour on this earth. My sister- and brother-in-law held him as he slipped into eternity of completion and painlessness.


It was a very sad time, obviously most felt by my sister- and brother-in-law. We had a small funeral for him and buried him in a tiny coffin, committing him to God and to God our limited understanding, questions, and sorrow. This song was played at his funeral.


God moves in a mysterious way
His wonders to perform;
He plants His footsteps in the sea
And rides upon the storm.

Deep in unfathomable mines
Of never failing skill
He treasures up His bright designs
And works His sov’reign will.

Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take;
The clouds ye so much dread
Are big with mercy and shall break
In blessings on your head.

Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,
But trust Him for His grace;
Behind a frowning providence
He hides a smiling face.

His purposes will ripen fast,
Unfolding every hour;
The bud may have a bitter taste,
But sweet will be the flow’r.

Blind unbelief is sure to err
And scan His work in vain;
God is His own interpreter,
And He will make it plain.


The news of a new baby's pending arrival was met with joy and with anxiety. Because of the previous experience, my sister-in-law's pregnancy would be challenging to say the very least. But in the end, Grace arrived safe and sound and is now at home with her mommy, daddy, and brother Benjamin.

Marc was sent for a business trip to Greenville, and amazingly, was able to be in town when our niece was born. I'm so thankful one of us was able to meet her and give her blessings from the California Thompsons - her Uncle Marc and Aunt Bethany that already love her so much.

This photo of Marc with Grace reminds me of the first day we met our nephew Benjamin.

We are so excited to celebrate Grace's arrival and rejoice with our family that she is not part of it, safe and sound.


Excuse me now, I need to go to Baby Gap.