"You Are Not The Teacher"

My little girl adores her preschool teachers. And they are wonderful people. I've always had a lot of respect for teachers. Anyone who can corral a number of kids, get them to listen, learn and cooperate and still be sane at the end of the day when they go home to their own family, has earned my respect.

That being said, I am not hurt when my daughter (at 2 1/2) says to me, "You are not the teacher." True, I am not THE teacher. In addition to her preschool teachers, her dad and I are two of many people who "teach" her.  Her grandparents teach her about letters, how to spell, ride a bike, fold laundry and songs and games from our childhood, forgotten for so many years, but important once again. Her friends teach her games and how to share (we're still working on this one). Our families teaches her love and affection by their actions. Her teachers are everywhere- in the books she reads, the movies she watches, the examples set by those around her.

folding laundry with her Yaya

We reiterate a lot of those lessons at home. We teach her manners. We have taught her colors, shapes, animals, safe touches, and most recently, to read. Her Daddy taught her how to snowshoe and about her teeth. I teach her about cutting, drawing and painting. We teach her eveything we know- how to set and clear the table, how to get dressed and make good choices when choosing weather appropriate clothes. How to love.

This ensemble is not so appropriate for the snowy winter day she chose to wear it on.

We teach her how to cook and stir and be careful of hot pans (a lesson recently learned while she was helping make dinner). We teach her how to give, to volunteer, to enjoy life. We teach her to be thankful, to pray and to listen.




She is an observant child, our daughter. I often watch her watching others, wondering what she is thinking, trying not to overanalyze her curious expressions. She is honest and open (one of the many perks of this age) and is not afraid to tell me what she is thinking.

 

 

But most recently, she has started adding to her comment "I am the teacher."  I am guessing this is something she hears at school and is repeating, but I had a profound moment today where I realized how very true that statement is.  She has taught me so much since those moments she was placed in my arms. She has taught me things that cannot be learned from books or school. Like how much you can love. And just how fragile life is. She has taught me to appreciate the NOW because these moments right now will never be again. She has taught me that the best laid plans can change in an instant (because of an injury, a sick child or the words "I have to go potty!!!!"). She has taught me to be more flexible. She has taught me that doing things together (although not the way I had intended) can sometimes be more fun! And that is ok to relax and let my inner control freak get trampled upon from time to time. She has taught me that although we all mistakes. She has reminded me how much I love her dad and that our time together is important too. (We often race to see who can hug his first when he arrives home from work). She has taught me that I am really a better person when I am well rested. She has taught me to have patience. And to respect her opinion and occasionally indulge her, within limits, of course...

 

She wanted so badly to sleep next to her new luggage she got from friends!

Although not the photo I was going for, "I want to stand like this, Mama!" she proclaimed. I love it.



Three pieces of pie...ok (it was an All U Can Eat pie buffet!)

My little girl is right; she really is the teacher...

~Angela

Family Snowshoeing Adventures

Our little girl got snowshoes from Santa this year and we took advantage of the (small amount of) snow that we have this winter to get out as a family.

 We are lucky to have trails behind our house we can explore...

A wipeout was really just an opportunity to eat snow!

 No outdoor winter activity is complete without hot cocoa!

I loved this day!

~Angela

My Face Tells the Story



Maybe it is because I recently had another birthday. Not a milestone birthday, but I'm still another year older. Maybe I'm just a little vain. In either case, I looked at myself in the mirror recently. Not just the "does my hair look ok" or "does this dress make my butt look big" or "do I have on way too much makeup" quick glance, but I took a good long, close look at myself. Something I don’t do often. And I was thinking to myself: Here I am. At 31.

My body has changed considerably since carrying my baby inside of me a few years ago. My hair's texture has too. It is my natural color and I've accepted that. I don’t spend hours each day trying to style my hair in a way it doesn’t naturally want to as I realized there are better ways to spend that time.

And my face...it's older. The dark circles are there from staying up too late: cleaning, rocking my little girl, reading books, blogging, creating things, spending time with my husband, and having those incredible conversations that seems so much more apt to happen in the hours long after you should have been asleep.

The creases (ok, the wrinkles) are there and there to stay. When exactly did that happen? Yes, I noticed them a few years ago when I traded in my tanning lotions for anti-aging creams with SPF... But this time I noticed a few more...the crease wrinkle in my forehead that is even more prominent when I worry, am running hard, thinking hard. The creases at the corners of my mouth that are ever present when I think, read or type...my face showing the emotion of me just being.  And my eyes. The creases there (sometimes called crow's feet) that I refer to as my "story lines."  They tell the story of my life. The creases are there when I smile those big smiles that are reserved for those BIG moments in life and when I laugh, which I do often. The creases are also there when I'm stressed, feel pain and sadness, and when I am overcome with compassion for others. I am terrible at hiding my feelings. I always have been. My face tells the story of exactly what I am thinking and feeling at any moment in time. I am animated when I speak, sing and laugh.  Often, I come across a photograph that has been taken of me and feel the expression that can be seen on my face. My face tells the story of all of those moments. And I would not trade those creases for life experiences. I like my story.



via Real Simple

~Angela

Music to soothe the soul

In one weeks time, my only grandma and both of my husband's grandmas have been in the hospital. It's been a time of prayer and relying on family for support, updates and hope for the best.
On a visit to the mayo clinic to see my grandma with my family, we stopped at the piano in the lobby to play the piano and sing. We are all terrible singers (it must be genetic) but this was such a fun family memory for me.

- Angela

Birthday sushi

Sushi is one of my favorite foods so our family day started with a (shrimp tempura, avocado and eel) sushi lunch to celebrate my birthday!












Bundle enjoying her egg drop soup.




More food pics- another fave of
mine -pad Thai.
My husband was a part of the family day, he was the guy behind the camera.
~Angela
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