Summer Through the Treetops

 There's a small grove of trees in the entrance to Lakefront Park where my son plays soccer on Saturdays. The cool shade they cast reminds me of where I picture picnics in the deep south were held, before air conditioning. Ladies clutched paper fans to combat sweat-soaked corsets and ruffles while fried chicken and watermelon were passed in wicker baskets. 

The next day I squinted as I walked out of the wide brick church in Balsam Lake, Wisconsin. Hot morning sun already poured over the peaks of a row of tall pines bordering the parking lot. I took a deep breath... fresh off of prayer and cabin air. 

And today I gathered my fourth grade class under the shade of big cottonwoods framing the school property. Giggling, we chased each other with dixie cups full of water playing 'Drip, Drip, Splash.'

They say things happen in threes, and my attention has drifted three times in the last few days in the direction of trees. Maybe it's just hot and I'm grateful for shade. Maybe it's a transitional time of year, and I'm clamoring for the presence of stability and physical safety. Or maybe I'm just real boring (If my seventeen year old self knew I was posting about trees...sheesh....)

Yet I can't help but think back to a few years ago. We were knee-deep in the throes of secondary infertility. To calm my impatience and frustration with God's timing to grow our family, I went for a walk in the small woods path in our neighborhood. As I gulped the humid air, I looked up towards the sky. The trees overhead formed a perfect circle around a patch of blue above. And it reminded me of the beauty of hope. Of stopping and listening and waiting for God's perfect timing in all things. 

As we transition to summer schedules, and roles and patterns shift, I will be soaking in conversations with friends- picnicking under the grove at the park. Breathing in rays of sun in God's yard, and giggling with kids in the shade as they revel in the coolness of splashing water. 

Oh Happy Summer. 

Pave Your Own Way

I can tell I haven't written in awhile when I start narrating my own thoughts, like June from the Handmaid's Tale.

On the way to work:

 {There they were when I turned the corner. A half dozen wild turkeys, sprawling across the road like they owned it.  I carefully maneuvered my car around them, catching the biggest one’s eye. He followed my gaze as if to say “ya got a problem?”}

 And so I write…

I was reminded this past week of my senior year in high school. Realizing I had conquered all the classes I needed and desired to graduate, and unwilling to take filler classes that I had no foreseeable use for, I went to see my guidance counselor.

“Well, what do you want to do?” the amazing Mr. Fritze asked me. I suddenly realized that all I wanted to do was start working with kids. Having made the choice to be a teacher in third grade, I’m one of the lucky ones who has never doubted my vocational direction.

“We can make that happen”, he relied with a half smile.

 

I look back on that experience with empowerment, having been taught that sometimes all it takes is expressing what you want. I could have easily just sat back and filled my schedule with any classes- on autopilot for the typical suburban high school experience. Instead I left that office feeling heard, and excited to begin realistic career training.

 

I love just about everything about being a teacher, yet the last few years have left me feeling constrained. There is so much I want to improve in the field of education. Some of you have heard me ruminate (sometimes ad nauseum) about the things we need to change about state testing, breaks, and trauma-informed practices.

 

With much prayer and family consultation, I have chosen to take a year leave from the classroom for the 2021-2022 school year. After waking up in panic and nausea for a week straight at the thought of even a year break from what I love, I made peace and am now ecstatic to embrace this next year.  

 

My plan is to complete my trauma certificate and research the effects of play and nature on kids with trauma. Please let me know if you have anyone to connect me with in these areas!

 

I also get to drive my kids to and from school daily, as any parent/educator knows is a luxury we have sacrificed for the rigidity of school hours. I can’t wait to see that sweet face on the first day of Kindergarten. (The big seventh grader will be pretty sweet too.)

 

 

Learning Patience

I haven't written on this blog in awhile. Partially because it's summer and the "WangenSchool" is officially closed. But also because I felt the need to learn, to listen, to absorb. With all of the racially charged events happening in Minnesota, and the mass education movement that has ensued, it felt a bit trivial to continue to blog my quarantine woes and observations. But for me I've found that writing is breathing...

I read a while ago that taking children to church from a young age is not only a great faith-inspirer, but it teaches them the art of patience. Excellent!, I thought, thinking of those long catholic masses transforming my wiggly squirrels into Benedictine monks able to ruminate thoughtfully on the genius of the gospel. 

Fast forward to a low moment last Ash Wednesday where the packed congregation watched me crawl awkwardly in heels over a row of kneeling elementary kids to grab my four-year-old en route to take over the homily. 

And between embarrassment and quarantine, he hasn't been back to church since. Needless to say, I've been desperate for opportunities from him to learn and build patience. This is a child that can ask for a snack, then cry that I'm not helping him find a toy, having literally forgotten that I am retrieving those precious requested goldfish crackers. The patience need was dire. 

So the last few months he's been asking to go fishing. He loved it last summer until Lightning McFishing pole lost its line and momentum. Two weeks ago, a kind family friend restrung the line and we were back in business. Last Friday on the way up to the cabin, we picked up a couple new lures and a container of worms at the St. Croix Falls Speedway station. I hadn't even brought in the cooler before he bolted down the dock begging for a worm on his hook. (Insert patience lesson here). 

After unpacking I made my way to the dock and twisted a juicy nightcrawler on his hook. He cast out from the dock, paused a second and reeled in to try his cast again. After repeating that process a few times he realized he ran the risk of losing his worm from all the vigorous casting practice. I snuggled next to him on the splintered dock boards and brushed my hair from my eyes and breathed deep. It was a beautiful day and the sun sparkled on the afternoon water, the wind softly arranging his hair from his forehead. I pointed to his bobber, and whispered, "Now watch." I could tell he wanted badly to crank the reel in, so I smiled at him and took another deep breath. This time he did it with me. Moments later, the small red and white bobber lurched underwater and I watched Auggie's green eyes grow wide. He was so proud to pull in a small sunny by himself and jumped up and down while I slid the hook out and released it. 

The next half hour I watched him cast and wait, because he knew if he did, he could catch another fish. We sat on the dock in calm bliss until Charly and her friend joyfully jumped in, and the lure of swimming overcame my tiny angler. Despite some angry, frustrated afternoons, I'm excited to see his new hobby take off. The power of a lake breeze, an old dock, and a bobber floating in the waves, might just teach us some needed patience after all. 

Hopefully soon we'll be back at mass as a family, learning patience there too. Will I still have to crawl awkwardly across a pew of kneeling children? Without a doubt. 

5.16.20-5.25.20

Loud Humility

I've been praying for humility for years.  My entire life I've often been the one who's a little too loud, and had "chatty" written on my report card more times than my parents cared to count. Forever I blamed it on my astrological sign (Leo- spotlight hog), and later on shifted it to the enneagram (a seven, it’s great!!!), but succumbed to the fact that this was just part of who I am. To combat the loudness, I pray for humility.

But recently I read something about how being humble doesn't mean being quiet. I literally read that sentence over and over. The relief I felt in knowing I didn't have to shrink down and be someone I wasn't in order to be humble was mind-blowing. This author talked about the true aspect of humility is caring for others. Really listening when others talk, and lifting others up when they need it. AND I CAN DO ALL THAT AT ANY VOLUME!!

When I started getting my writing published I floundered with humility the most. It's hard to put yourself out there and want your words shared without seeming egotistical and self-promoting. In addition to self-deprecating honesty I often find gratitude the most humbling of all.

The Twin Cities is overwhelmed with anger, hate, and fear right now. So I am pulling on the many blessings that humble me right now...
I’m humbled by my coworkers.

A fellow teacher whose mom is in fragile hospice, yet he sends lines of positivity to every student and makes division videos from his dog, the coworker who endears the students wearing heavy metal wigs and the one who lets her patient nature shine through her writing videos.

Another teacher who meets with certain kids daily who are struggling and adapts lessons because they can't handle the emotional side of all this.

I’m humbled by discussing race with my almost-middle-schooler, her freckled hands twist dandelions into a crown as she asks if we can pray.

I’m humbled by my four year old walking soundlessly on gravel as a deer stretches it’s long neck to leaves above the cabin driveway.

The stillness of the lake as we navigate this time and our place within it.

And I vow to be humble, but I will not be quiet.

YouTube + thinning shears = one happy detangled girl

Movie night at the cabin!

Who knew how fun mulch could be

Family wrastlin'

A strange new species

After a tough day and lots of fighting, I find them both here. 

Bike rides!

Birthday yard hangouts for friends

So proud of this girl's science poster- all her!

Playing arctic animals with ice!

Five morels in the yard!!

Secret family recipes 

A framer with the cabin in the background

Excellent boat drivers!

Love this

5.9.20-5.15.20

It's 8:00 pm and I'm nestled under the covers surrounded by piles of picture books, Auggie clutching his bowl of rainbow goldfish and plastic straw cup of milk (Not too much, Lord help us, can we be done with Pull-Ups Yet??)

Auggie giggles profusely when I read the nonsense words in The Book With No Pictures, then meander into a sly lesson in acceptance told in the sing-song sway of Dr. Seuss and The Sneeches. I nuzzle his freshly washed hair as Charly sidles up to my other side, hair up in a towel, eager to tear through another dystopian tween novel series.

And who would be the wiser that it had been an utter crap show all day. 

And today was a doozy. Let me tell you, having a masters degree in education and close to 20 years teaching under my belt means absolutely nothing in the face of bored kids dead-set on taking out the day's frustrations on each other. I'm grasping at rules and time outs like this is my first parenting rodeo, and truth be told- it's not pretty. 

But books, man. They are magic. One thing I had no idea how much I would miss about teaching in person is reading aloud. It used to be I came home, so tired of talking from a day of teaching that I could scarcely stand the sound of my own voice. These days, I'm giving bedtime my best material. There are voices, sound effects, snuggles and giggles.... and its healing for us. 

The other morning I sat down at the table to start my distance teaching for the day. Before I jumped in, I impulsively tapped Instagram. The first thing that popped up was a quote from Roald Dahl in the book Matilda. The quote was about books being comforting and hopeful. Being the fully-admitted book nerd that I am, I teared up a little, and thought- this is exactly what we need. So I will continue to ask my students incessantly what they are reading. Scott and I will continue to be parents who model books in our hands. And I will forever treasure that sweet smell of fresh shampoo, and the feel of a favorite page between my fingers; the balm for even the roughest of days. 

King of the mulch pile!

Sweet girl didn't even have to be asked to help!

Driveway coffee chats with high school girls

Ice cream sundaes and movie night

Mother's Day cookie decorating...

...amazing kit from Kelly's Confectionary Creations

The first of (Lord help me) many boys golf days (RIP Scott's beard...)

Playing "Cross"

Books in a tent even!

If you look close, you'll see the guy is at his desk on his computer. Sign of our times. 

My life. Daily. Send me strength...

5.2.20-5.8.20

Lessons from Ferris Bueller 

Well, I've officially hit rock-bottom for parenting. Either that, or I didn't need that last glass of rose'. But I giggled pretty hard (with myself) over all the parallels I can draw from my favorite movie of the 80's...

I didn't hit you. I lightly slapped you. 

Ladies and gentlemen... we are officially bored. We have been bored before, but this is next level. My children are seven years apart in age. SEVEN YEARS. And they hit each other and full-body tackle, and someone always ends up crying. And that someone is always eleven years old. I can't help but feel like the drama, the feeling of "poking the bear in the zoo" as we call it, until he fires back is better than feeling the nothing. I had an online prompt with my 4th graders today asking, "How are you?" You know what the top answer was? ...I'm bored. Yep. Loud and clear. 

The good old days of network censoring

My parents loved recording movies on network TV with the VCR. My younger sister and I were introduced to a vast variety of movies above the age-appropriate level for our chronological age. So when Ferris referenced a lump of coal in Cameron's...(ah-hem), fist, rather than another body part... It's not far off from Muppet Babies, right? Consequently, the memories of this movie are innocently tainted. Thinking Ferris Bueller's Day Off would be hilarious to show Charly the other night, I realize now the language in a 1986-caliber "PG-13" are not quite 5th grade suitable.

Bueller? Bueller? Anyone? Anyone?

I'll admit, Google Meet meetings with my class were cute for the first few weeks. Look at us! Thumbs up if you have a question, kids! Fast forward to May 7th, and I've got three ceiling shots, four screen pictures "off" and more kids spacing out than I can count. Now granted, they showed up for the meeting, and I know some fellow teachers are struggling with that alone. But as I watched that poor teacher at Ferris Bueller's high school repeatedly answer his own questions (anyone? anyone?) as he stood, lecture-style at the chalk board, it reminded me that this is our chance to change it up! Like it or not, we cannot go back to teachers leading note-taking while students sit neatly in desk rows. It's time to rethink and reimagine. When school returns it needs to be a hybrid of learning from your bunk bed and the old style. And it needs to be better. But for real, that one kid needs to start putting a shirt on in virtual calls. 

Danke Schoen... thank you for,  all the joy and pain

Boy does that lyric sum it up. The other morning, as I was reading my favorite devotional- it talked about prayers of thankfulness; for the joyful and the hard. The pain means we are learning, we are growing. Despite boredom, disengagement, frustration... this has to be teaching us! As a wise friend messaged me the other night, we are meant to experience this, to lean in. After all...

Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in awhile, you could miss it. 

Minnesota River exploring at The Landing in Shakopee

Shenanigans galore "attending" St. John's fundraiser!

A visit from Mimi and Papa in their cool car = Auggie's day made. 

Thank goodness for great neighbors! 

Drive-by party for Charly's friend, Millie!

...complete with virtual cupcake decorating

Daily adventures with Daddy

Yeah, buddy... that's not how AirPods work...

Charly took out braids and looked like Merida from the movie Brave

Chalk painting! They had fun for at least 2 1/2 minutes!!!

Sweeney Peeps-this is the new construction "doorway" to the back parking lot. 

Doesn't even look like Sweeney

Uncle Mike, there might be some added "enhancements" on your trailer when it's returned.