Write Like You Mean It

Sometimes the days are so long and the chaos of life  so distracting that I forget to say the things that matter. Things like... I love you, I see you, and... I haven't forgotten. No, I haven't forgotten how you made me feel      that night, under the moon. I still remember the completeness of your arms around me. I didn't forget our first kiss            or all the reasons  I fell in love with  your soul. Your kindness, the way your love pulled me into safety and salvaged what was left of my shattered heart. They say bones are stronger after they have been broken. Love is the same,      I think. And so, husband, know this:  from the  scars of my brokenness I love you. And even when I forget  to tell you, I       always                 remember.

 I was so excited when I was invited by my colleague to do this month of writing. I was amped and ready and full of ideas. I guess now might be the time to mention that I haven't written anything--on paper anyway--since Thursday. I had the best of intentions. Don't I always? So here I am, 5 days late, writing something. The phrase "the best of intentions" kept bouncing around my head this morning. I have decided that it might be the theme to my adult life. My house is halfway clean. I made dinner 3 out of 5 planned nights. My daughter usually brushes her teeth at night. All these things begin and end with the best of intentions . I think where I feel this most intensely right now is in my role as mother. My children are so many things to me--the first of which are miracles. My son entered my orbit after years of trying to conceive and a failed adoption. When his birth mother handed him to me, my world changed. My daughter, born almost 10 years later, was the result of

 Have you seen that shirt that all the "boss babes" 🙄 sell on Facebook? The one that says, "My Tribe" or "Find your tribe, love them hard." There are many iterations. A version of it has made its way around Instagram as one of those inspirational text-images people love so much. You know, the one with arrows and feathers and cool, scripty font. You've seen it--super boho and trendy. Can I tell you something? I hate this shirt. I hate this meme. I hate the word tribe . It always irks me. I wish it didn't, but it does. Yes, I dislike the cultural appropriation, but, if I am being honest, I really hate it for one, big selfish reason: I don't have a tribe. I don't really have "people." No close knit group of gal-pals that I drink wine with or talk to daily. I don't have a group text thread that blows up my phone all day simultaneously annoying and entertaining me. I don't have this. I never have. I think I have always been t

Living in American feels hard lately. Everything in so heavy--politics, religion, the pandemic, social justice...nothing seems easy. And the truth is, it isn't. That feels like something on which we can all agree, right? Imagine now, how exponentially more difficult it is to simultaneously live in Texas. Talk about heavy. I know, I am probably pissing off some of the Texas natives right now. I'm okay with that. Because right now, living as a Texan is tough. And, frankly, I don't love it. A few weeks ago Texas suffered one of the worst winter storms in history. People lost power. Some froze to death. Literally. People died from the cold. If you have access to the news, you probably heard about it. Turns out, it all could have been avoided with a little regulation. Imagine that. Well, to add insult to injury, our governor rescinded our mask order yesterday. You read that right. No more masks for the great State of Texas. There is speculation that it was no accident it coinci

My voice cracks a little every time I tell someone I have been an educator for 21 years. Ouch. How is that possible? It feels like yesterday that I was hired on a "certification waiver" at the age off 22 with zero idea of what I was going to be doing as a teacher. But here I am, fluorescent light buzzing above me at 8 am on a Tuesday morning--my coffee tumbler empty. I'd like to think I am still much the same as I was back then...spunky, tough, opinionated, caring. Yet, I know a great deal of who I am as a teacher has changed. My practices, my philosophies...like me as a human, they too have grown and evolved. Thank goodness , I think to myself. Because for so long, I meant well, but I think I did things that weren't really best for kids. I feel a pang of guilt when I remember this. No, I never cursed at a kid or intentionally hurt anyone--nothing like that, but I did do something that I truly believe is not what's best for kid:. I gave them zeroes when they didn&

First blog post. The pressure. Gah. As I sit next to my less-than-tired toddler trying to convince her she needs to go to sleep, I’m mentally drafting what I should write about. I’m drawing a blank. She smiles at me and starts to squirm out of bed. She’s got plans and they don't include doing what I ask--the first of which is digging through my bedside drawer. As I watch her toss  my ear plugs (don’t judge, my husband snores!) over her shoulder, I realize I really am stumped. Maybe I just won’t do this whole blog thing. What have I gotten myself into? I mean, I love to write. I do. But the truth is, I’ve lost my writing muse. I haven’t written in a hot minute. I’m an imposter. So here it is. I confess. I don’t know what to write. Truth is, I have 1 million ideas. But none of them seem to come to fruition as I start to try to put them on the page. They fall apart. And I’m left staring at the screen—blinking cursor mocking me. And then I wonder, how often do our students feel this wa