My littlest graduate

Last week, my heart simultaneously was aching and beaming with pride, as I watched my youngest baby walk down the aisle for her preschool graduation.

Yes, the long-awaited day had finally come.

She was the one waiting for it.  I was hoping to postpone it just a little bit longer.  She is so eager to be bigger and move on to grander things.  I, on the other hand, am trying hard to catch up to her in that respect.

But goodness, watching her enter the room with a smile beaming brightly set my heart on fire.  She is ready for grander things. 

She's so smart.  She's so sassy.  She's so independent.  She's so creative.  She's so brave.

She's going to take on kindergarten full force in the fall.

Watching her graduate was a little harder on my heart than watching her brothers.  When she started daycare, where she did the preschool program that she graduated from, she was less than one-year-old.  She started on the same day that I did.  We started together in the same room.

She's left me way behind.  I love where I am, and so does she, but she's ready to break forth.  I am not.

It's been such a joy watching my kiddos grow and move through the rooms, finding relationships with not only their peers, but my fellow staff.  I have LOVED the four years of having my princess in the building with me.  I have loved knowing she's near, just like I did with the boys.

But watching her go?  I'm not ready for that.   I have a few months to adjust, but I don't know that I will ever really be prepared to enter the daycare doors alone next fall, and not bring her smiling face through the door to see her best friend- the first daycare provider she ever had, whose heart she found a home in, and has loved her, and seen her, almost every single day of her life.

We are in for a big change.

I am so excited for her, though, as she is thrilled to join her big brothers at elementary school.  She has big plans and ideas for the days to come, and I love hearing her squeal with excitement as she tells me all about them.

Her graduation program was adorable, of course.  She grinned until she couldn't grin naturally anymore, then faked it and sang her heart out.  She was beautiful.  She enamors me. 

She wants to work in a hospital when she grows up.  She used to want to be a nurse.  I guess it's a little more open ended now. 

I stood there, watching her, grinning as huge as she did, with tears in my eyes.

My baby graduated.

They're all growing up so quickly.

My second little Graduate

Dearest Collin,

Tonight, as your brother did a year ago, you celebrated your very first graduation.  You did it all in your own very unique style, with a lot of flair.  It's amazing how sometimes you can be so much like your big brother, and then other times, it's like you are complete opposites.

Because of your very special birthday being on the last possible day to go to kindergarten next year, you were not only the youngest in your class, but one of the shortest and spunkiest.   From the moment you walked into the sanctuary at church, you captured the attention.  My heart about exploded while you stood up in front proclaiming "I love you, Mama" in front of everyone, even if you were talking over the person who was trying to speak to the crowd.

Uncle Jesse, Auntie Sam, and Belinda all joined in the celebration tonight, and you were delighted to have them there to celebrate. You waved enthusiastically at both of your siblings, who were excited to watch you perform.  And... perform you did.  You were the loudest, busiest one in the group.  I wasn't surprised, and I was trying to hard not to stress out about the fact that you might have yelled at a couple people because you've definitely got a firecracker spirit and a mind of your own.

Your brother kept telling me how funny you were. Your sister kept telling me how awesome you were.  And everyone knew you were ours.

You knew all the words, and so long as your tassle and your sash were on properly, you sang your little heart out and did explosive actions.

You were thrilled when you received your diploma and went running to hug your teacher.

Thank you for the goofy, joy-filled memories.

We are so proud of you.  You've got big things ahead of you.  I know sometimes, I wonder if you're listening or paying attention, but you prove time and time again that you are.  You take after me in that you've got a vast expanse of trivia-type knowledge.  You love the sea, shapes, colors, automobiles.  You are stubborn though, so I never quite know what you know, because you only want to share on your own terms.  Remember when I asked if you could write a 'C' and you said yes?  I asked you to show me, you wrote an 'X' and I asked why.   You said "Because I wanted to write an X, not a C."

That's how you roll, Ollie Bear.

I'm a little nervous for you to become a big boy and join the realms of elementary school. I worry that your temper may get the best of you, and your teachers might be a little overwhelmed.  I hope they can give you hugs if you need, like your preschool teachers have learned to do.  It almost always diffuses the situation and brings you back down to earth.

I know you're excited to go to school like your brother, and I know you'll love learning there too.

You've grown up so fast.  I can hardly believe it.  You're a graduate.

I love you, Ollie Bear.  Thanks for all the joy you bring to my life, for teaching me unending patience and strength, and for not being ashamed to proclaim you love me, even when it's not perfect timing for the rest of the world.  I'll never grow tired of hearing it.

Little Graduate

Dear Spencer,

Last night was your first of many educational graduations. Last night, you graduated from preschool! I know that critics may claim it is not a true graduation, and quite honestly, years ago, I would have been one of them. Now that I am your Momma, I feel much differently.

Buddy Boy, I am so proud of you. Ever since you were a toddler and the first color you learned was chartreuse (of all things), I knew you had amazing potential. You learned your colors and shapes very early on, and your alphabet and numbers soon after. My heart was so full of joy, feeling like you were following in my honor roll footsteps. You spent much of your first four years at home with me, and I relished these years and took your education (as) seriously (as I could with your siblings and the assorted chaos of our lives).

It fractured my heart a bit when life's curveballs made it so you had to attend daycare and other women would be spending their days with you. 

I was also very nervous. You are my first born, the one who taught me how to be a mommy, and our bond was special. It was laden with challenges of your quirky personality and hate for change and new circumstances. I was very apprehensive to let you be in the care of strangers who didn't know what made you nervous, what brought you joy, and everything in between.

Last night was your graduation program. While you did not participate in the singing, I am proud of you. Last night, you joined your class in your classroom beforehand, willingly and happily, despite your tears and pleads not to on the way there. At one point, you even agreed to stand up front.

I know many adults may criticize us and my decision to not press the issue of you performing. When you walked in and saw the crowd, you panicked. I know thousands of adults would have done the same. An adult would call it a panic attack, anxiety, an extreme phobia, or other such thing, but when it comes to a little guy like yourself, it's often not seen with the same understanding and grace. I am sure many would be disappointed that I did not try to force you against your will to join.

But I heard your scared cry and I let you sit beside me. We watched the program together while you sang along quietly, and in between songs, I would try to urge you to join.  You would chose to stay in the audience. That was okay.

Your accomplishments, your strength, your intellect, your worth... None of that is measured by your willingness to stand in front of tons of strangers who are staring at you as you perform. Some people love performing. Many don't. Your mom is one who tenses up and gets nervous in front of an audience, so I understand.

I will always encourage you to try. I will work to develop your bravery, and we will continue to pray for bravery and strength in situations like that. I believe one day you will join, and you will be so proud of yourself for doing so.

Until then, know that you're amazing, even out of the spotlight. You know so many things, you can do so many things, you have the emotional intelligence of an elementary school student for sure, you have a huge, compassionate, and empathetic heart, and you bring so many of us such great joy. Many know this of you already, some refuse to see it or understand, but one day, countless people will know.

I am so blessed to be your Momma, my little graduate. You have big things in store for your future!

Love,

Mom

When did I stop?

When I was in high school, my main goal in life was, "to make a difference." That's what I'd tell people. That idea carried on through high school, to college, and after college... for a while.

Recently, I feel like I've lost that. Not that I don't want to make a difference, because I do, definitely. But, I've stopped vocalizing it. I've stopped using it as a driving force.

I'm conflicted about that.

I didn't necessarily think I was doing big things when I was working on this goal. In high school, it was writing poetry, mainly, and sharing it with the world. I know it sounds totally strange, but man, I was popular when it came to the online poetry community. I was on boards and people were reading my work left and right, praising me, and telling me how much they could relate. I received so many thanks and comments on my webpage (now deceased, due to the collapse or whatever of geocities) that I was completely astonished with myself. I didn't think I was really good at writing, I just wrote because it's what I could do. It was an outlet. It was a release and hey, an avenue for my ever burning creative fire. I made friendships with my poetry, online, and offline too. Even after my mother read my poetry about my inner pain and got mad at me for writing it, I continued, because it seemed to mean something, not only to me, but to the world. I felt powerful.

After high school, I joined outreach groups and other activities in college. At Augustana, I did youth overnight lock-ins with the IXOYE outreach ministry. It was wonderful! We were sharing the love of the Lord with so many children. It inspired me to work at Shetek Lutheran Ministries the summer of 2003 as a camp counselor. I loved the work we were doing. I returned the next summer as a daycamp director, and took other staff along with me as we shared the Lord with children all across southwestern Minnesota and southeastern South Dakota. I remember one camp where we re-wrote the Lord's prayer with the children, in their words. I still have my camp binders. I sang the love of the Lord with my guitar, for me, for staff, for children, for families. I felt I was really making a difference there, too.

I was an RA in college at Southwest MN State University two years later, and I was able to counsel and support freshmen students in our house as we went through some crazy situations. I allowed a random guy, who was drunk and drugged up, to grope and harass me for the protection of the students, and then work through it with them. I did everything I could for that house of students, everything they would let me. We formed some really great relationships, and it was really hard to say goodbye and get married that summer knowing I could never be an RA again.

During my junior and senior year, I worked at a Crisis Center in Marshall, doing supervised visitations. It was a relatively simple job most times, though it was always hard to pry children from their parents. But, I felt like I was making a difference, I was allowing these families to have time together that they wouldn't have otherwise.

My senior year of college, I took an internship at Western Community Action, and made it my mission to help combat the terror of poverty in our area. I loved it. I worked at the food shelf, basically running it, helping people have food. I helped run a free tax clinic where those who couldn't afford others to do their taxes could come and we would help. It was wonderful. I fell so in love with it that I applied to work there after graduation, and was hired. I then took on the food shelf, and started a group for girls, where they empowered themselves and learned leadership skills and other useful things. I ran a Big Buddies program in Redwood county (mentoring), and then my final project was to help form the Circles of Support program, where the community would come together on a regular basis, to relate, learn, lead by example, fight poverty, and form relationships, across all lines that are considered barriers (class, race, age, gender, etc.) I really felt I was doing something big.

During this time, I also volunteered at my other employment, the crisis center, as a Crisis Line advocate. The crisis line was a wonderful way to make a difference, with late night calls reporting rape, and I'd drive to hospitals to be an advocate for women who were going through perhaps the worst situation in their lives. I was there for suicidal callers. I was there for so much. They didn't always know me, but I was there. I was making a difference.

When I resigned from my WCA job and started as a preschool teacher, I felt important then too, not as important, but important. I mean really, I was educating young minds. Same goes for when I moved to Sioux Falls and started working in an infant room. But the impact didn't feel the same. I'm sure it's meaningful, but it just wasn't the same.

I sit here, raising my son, and am very, very proud of it. But at the same time, I don't feel like I'm making a difference like I hoped for, dreamed of, and wanted. I don't know why I feel that way. What did I actually mean when I told myself that? Was it to make a difference for countless people, or could it mean to make a difference in the life of one little boy sleeping on my bed? I don't know. I don't think there are clearly defined boundaries for my dream.

I think I just need to work on seeing the way things really are, and that I am still making a difference, just in a different way than I expected.

And who's to say I can't do something big, yet?

The Baby Book Wedding Graduation.

Last Friday (May 28th), my best friend of over 19 years got married! It was my second favorite wedding I've ever been to (next to my own, obviously). I was the only bridesmaid (Maid of Honor (and Awesomeness)), with four groomsmen, a flower girl, and a ring bearer (who really didn't want to be the ring bearer, he even told the photographers).

I tell you what, though, on Thursday, we left Sioux Falls to head to Minneapolis, and about half an hour away from home, my car decided to die on us. Yeah. Not cool. We coasted into a small town, and sat at an auto shop for about an hour and they told us we should probably call the bride and tell her we weren't going to make it. I started crying... and well, Jake took care of things. His mom came and picked us up, and his best friend's mom let us borrow her car for the weekend.

My wonderful husband was kind enough to chauffer the bride and I to the hair appointment, and then the church, and though he didn't have an official job after that, until the reception, he found plenty to do to be helpful and keep busy.

Therefore... he didn't really take any photos. Ah well. Here's one from the bride's little sister, of Michelle and I. It'll do for now.

My dress fit, despite the pregnant belly and boobs (Jake had to pin the front of the dress to my bra, but hey, I didn't flash anyone) so that was fantastic.

The entire day was a lot of fun, but completey exhausting. I bet I fell asleep promptly at 12:05.

Saturday, we joined the newlyweds for gift opening and brunch, and following, met up with Jake's best friend. We asked him to take a few photos of us so that we had a recent one to put in our baby book. He is a new aspiring photographer, and hadn't really photographed people before, so it was a fun experience for all three of us, I think.

Here are a few of my favorites from the set (they're distorted because my drag and resize skills suck):

You can see more of my favorites by clicking this link.

After the photography session, we went out to eat at a wonderful pizza place, with our friend and his friend, and then to a one-man play called "The House Can't Stand." It was... uh... interesting. The guy played a woman telling a story about her life through her political history and past love life. I liked the first half, and then in the middle, she started to sleep with Abe Lincoln from the past brought into the future (because she was telling him about Obama)... and well, I sort of lost interest. The actor did really well, but it became really hard for me to focus and follow. Plus, my uterus was hurting, so what do you do? Truthfully, I can't tell you if I liked or disliked it.

Then the guys took us out to a wine bar.

We came back after, and I fell asleep on the couch, and eventually went to bed.

Sunday, my little brother graduated high school. Ah! He's going into the guards, and leaves in August. He won't be around for the birth of my baby! I am really proud of him, though. And at the reception, there were all of his pictures from his school career, so I got a good laugh seeing his Kindergarten picture again. It looks like he's pooping his pants.

Unfortunately, we weren't able to stay as long as I would have liked, because we had to go back to Jake's home town to drop off the borrowed car, and have his mom drive us back to our car, which was, luckily, done. The water pump needed to be replaced, and the old man quoted us $1,300 for repairs. HOLY MOLY! I about died. Jake talked to him, and it turns out he gave us the wrong quote, that was for a transmission job, and ours was much less, thankfully.

The end.

Oh wait, the internet at our place is still all sorts of crazy, despite my cousin's laptop, so I'm still not around consistently. I apologize!