I have never been a “girly-girl”. I played around with eye shadow in eighth grade, wore lipstick on and off through high school, and had a disastrous perm experience that left me with “Cher-hair” (seriously) in middle school. But other than that, I’ve prided myself on being a blow-dry and go girl. No make-up, just good ole face wash and moisturizer. No fuss, no muss. So, it’s a surprise to me as I’ve gotten older that my appearance has become more important to me. It started with nail polish after college. Then, when I could afford it, I fell in love with highlights in my mid-twenties as my hair became more salt and peppered. But the biggest leap has come now that I’m into my thirties. I have discovered the power of the “Chi”.

It all started when I spent a few days with my sister in Kansas City. If I am a no fuss, no muss girl, my little sister is all fuss, all muss. She is meticulous with her hair and make-up, taking as long as necessary to get her hair just right before she leaves the house. She has all sorts of hair products, one of which happens to be a Chi hair straightener. I had some time when I was visiting her (she was taking care of my sons) so I decided to have some fun and give the Chi a try. That was all it took. I was smitten. You see, although my hair has always had lots of body, it’s never been curly. After the “Cher-hair” disaster and another average perm, I realized my dream of cascading spirals was never going to materialize. And so, I let it go, never realizing that there might be another option. I never thought my hair might be straight.

The moral of all of this is that maybe we each have a little bit of girly-girl in us after all. And although I spend more time on my hair than I ever have before, it’s only a matter of minutes. Maybe it’s vanity, or just a repressed need to try and slow the aging process, but it makes me happy every day to plug in my Chi.

Thank you to my wonderful hubby by the way for bringing the Chi permanently into my life:)

Blessings and Peace,
Sara

I was sitting in the teacher’s lounge the other day, listening to teachers do what they do in the teacher’s lounge, vent (unless it’s an American Idol Day). One of the teachers made the comment that she didn’t know why she bothered putting so much into the process of teaching when the kids don’t seem to care. The other teachers groaned in empathy and agreed. I had to laugh though. I mean really, any good teacher knows that deep down (sometimes very deep down) we do it because we love the kids. The bueracracy of our educational system has tried to thwart that, with ridiculous curricular goals and too much emphasis placed on standardized tests, but real teachers know what matters most.

I was reminded of that last week in an encounter I had with one of my students. We’ve been reading Jon Krakauer’s Into the Wild, and in the middle of the author’s discourse on his relationship with his father, one of my boys walked out of the room. This is the second year I’ve had this student in class, and we have a pretty good relationship, so I just thought maybe he wasn’t feeling well. After a bit, another student asked if he could go check on the boy. I was surprised when the other student opened the classroom door and saw that the boy was not in the bathroom, but outside in the hall. I went out in the hall to see what was going on, and saw that my student was crying. I sat down next to him and asked what was going on. It was the book, the discussions of the volitale relationships between fathers and sons had struck home to him, as he and his father have a very difficult relationship. We talked for a few minutes and went back into class.

The point of all of this is that this is what teaching should be about. It’s about building relationships with students. It’s about being there for them, helping them grow, providing them a sounding board, encouraging them to think for themselves. We put the effort into our classes not so our students can be successful on a test, but so they can be successful in life. It’s a privilege to teach– I need to remember that come Monday morning!

Blessings and Peace,
Sara

So, I just finished reading a new set of books by Ann Turnbull that I have to blog about. No Shame, No Fear and Forged in the Fire. These books are amazing!! Set in England in the mid 1600’s, the books tell the love story of Susanna and Will. Susanna is a young Quaker girl and Will the son of a wealthy merchant. Will is drawn to both the Quakers and Susanna, but his father disapproves of both. In a time of persecution, Will and Susanna have to decide what is worth sacrificing for love of each other and of God.

The second book (and probably my favorite) continues their story through an outbreak of the Plague in 1665 and then the Great Fire of London in 1666. Both stories are told in alternating viewpoints from Susanna and Will. The characters grow in depth and maturity throughout the books as they face a myriad of obstacles, but hope always springs forth through their love and faith.

I searched online to see if a third book is in the works, but so far, no word. Turnbull definitely leaves it open for a continuation, and this reader is very hopeful that a new book will come.

If anyone reads this blog– check out these books!!

Blessings and Peace,
Sara

Wow! I can’t believe it’s been almost a year since I’ve posted!! Where has the time gone? I feel like so much has changed since I’ve last written. And, the fact that I haven’t posted in so long effectively means that the only one reading this will be me.

Well, our second son was born in June, five days before his big brother’s second birthday. It was beautiful. Stephenson Murod came out at just over six pounds. His name comes from my maiden name and the name of my husband’s best friend who died of cancer several years ago. We took Stephen home the day after he was born and he promptly slept for the first two weeks of his life. Everything with Stephen is easier than with his brother. He loves to eat (at 8 1/2 mos. he’s already pushing twenty pounds!) sleep, and is generally very happy. He loves to move and is already crawling and pulling up to standing on furniture. He delights in his big brother, who is just thrilled to be Stephen’s center of attention. Everything Garrett does is simply hilarious to Stephen.

Garrett continues to become a “little man”. He talks, constantly, and we now have what I would call complete conversations. He’s become obsessed with the movie Cars. We watch at least part of it on a daily basis and he quotes it to us throughout the day. He’s finally eating table foods and is filling out a bit, although his ribs are still visible through both his chest and back. But his face is filling out, so I’m not too concerned. He’s become a big fan of cookies, especially his Grandpa Stu’s cookies, so that’s become our tool for getting him to finish a meal.

I still love teaching high school. It’s so great to work for supportive administrators in a district that strives to be progressive. My students are at this moment attempting to stay awake while they finish reading Jon Krakauer’s Into the Wild. We only have a classroom set, so all of our reading has had to be done in class. I thought my student’s would really like the book, but they find it pretty dull. I think it’s because it’s non-fiction and they just don’t get a lot of that.

It’s funny to me that I was ready to give up teaching six years ago because I’ve found that I really love it. Although, I was on the blog page for Susan Pfeffer, a young-adult author who’s written/writing a series of books I love, and I couldn’t help but feel that familiar twinge of longing to do that for a living. But, I’d miss the kids, which is why I teach. And, I love exploring literature with them.

Things at the church are o.k. We went through a really rough spell, but things are turning in the right direction. I no longer want to leave as soon as possible, so that’s good. It helps that we’ve made some friends, other young couples who are transplants to our small community and have struggled as we have. I know Chris is doing good work. Plus, he will be ordained this summer! Ten years of hard work is finally coming to fruition. I’m so excited for him!!

Well, that’s about it. It’s hard to sum up a year in a nutshell. It’s definitely been a year of growth, both literally and figuratively! Until next time…

Blessings and Peace,
Sara

P.S. I was totally consumed by the Presidential Election and thrilled with the results. 1600 bn. dollars worth of debt however, not so much!

Living in one of the richest countries in the world, I realize that there is much I take for granted. One of those things is access quality healthcare. I don’t know why it is, but I find myself continually questioning the authority of the doctors I go to for treatment. This isn’t true across the board. I loved my family care practitioner in Kansas City and trusted her judgment in almost all things.

Yet, in my first pregnancy I canceled my first scheduled induction because I thought it was a dumb thing to have to do and I wanted a natural childbirth. (She had a lot to say about that, by the way!) And recently, I’ve completely ignored picking up a prescription another doctor sent in for me because I think I can manage things better on my own. This sounds dumb, I know, but my experience with doctors throughout this pregnancy is that they’re really kind of a pain. Although I like my ob, I can’t stand the clinic he works with. They don’t take care of anything “in-house”. I’ve been sent all over the place for various routine tests and procedures, and when I recently tested positive for gestational diabetes, I was sent to an entirely different doctor who specializes in high-risk pregnancies. This is the doctor who phoned in a prescription for me to boost my insulin levels after checking my sugar levels four times a day for less than a week showed that my sugar after lunch has been a little high. The same thing occurred in my last pregnancy, but instead of putting me on medication, I worked with my nutritionist to lower the sugars naturally. And, we did. So, I think it can be done again. I’ve tweaked my snack time and added some extra protein at lunch, which is seeming to help. I don’t want to risk the health of the baby, but I also don’t want to rush into any sort of medicinal treatment that can be avoided.

I think my overall frustration is that I feel like my doctor’s office, instead of treating me, is just trying to cover their butts. And I’m tired of being told where to go, what to do, and when to do it without any sort of input or thoughts on my part. I don’t feel like I’m part of the process for my own treatment, and I have a real problem with that. Although I appreciate all of the advances made in medicine, and all of the things doctors are capable of doing, I want to have some say in it as well. My family care doctor in Kansas City was excellent in overall patient care. She took the time to get to know me, to know how I felt about medicine. I always felt like I had a say in my treatment, for the most part. What she really did best was to take time. She always sat and talked, and would stay as long as I wanted or needed her to stay, for both myself and my son whom she treated as well.

I know I should be grateful to live in a society where I have access to good healthcare, and to have the insurance to cover that healthcare, I just don’t want to get lost in the treatment process.

So, that’s my rant, and I feel better for having given it.

Blessings and Peace,
Sara

At my ob/gyn visit yesterday, I asked my doctor about the possibility of taking Zoloft again to help manage some overly active emotional activity. I explained to him that I’d been feeling extremely frustrated, overwhelmed, and a bit anxious over some various things. He told me that new studies are showing a potential risk to unborn children from anti-depressants, and that doctors are more hesitant now to prescribe them to expectant mothers. I was, actually, having done some of my own research on the matter, fine with that. Although there are some cases where it can’t be avoided and women with severe depression should definitely stay on their medication, I don’t really fall into either of those categories. So, I’m going to work on controlling my temper, cry whenever I want, and try not to worry about all of the bad things that could happen to my son which I can’t control anyway. (This last one, I think, stems from the fact that I’m realizing our time with just Garrett is ending.)

One of the more interesting parts of the conversation with my ob/gyn was when he explained to me all that is physiologically going on with my body right now. Apparently, a part of the emotional overload which comes during many pregnancies is really an issue of salt. Pregnant women retain salt more than those who aren’t. The retention of that salt puts pressure on the various organs of your body, including the brain. And, those pressure points from the salt tend to really push against the emotional control center of the brain, making one (me) a little nutty. That, combined with the increased levels of estrogen in your system (especially during a second pregnancy when the hormones build much quicker than the first) are enough to send anyone over the edge at times. So, he told me to lessen my salt intake, increase my fluids, and maybe try some vitamin B. He also told me to keep him posted on how I was feeling.

This whole discussion got me thinking about Lot’s wife, you know, the pillar of salt. I know there’s no direct correlation here, but there’s something to the fact that in her inability to let go emotionally she was turned into salt, and that salt can have such an impact on the emotional sensibilities of (at least) pregnant women. I always kind of thought Lot’s wife got a raw deal, I mean, change is hard. But if we keep looking to the past, we can never move forward. If we’ve got too much salt on the brain, we can’t look beyond ourselves to see what God has in store. So, what’s the point? I don’t know… maybe Lot’s wife should have had a big glass of water before setting off into the desert. In any case, it’s an interesting theory, and one that demonstrates the continually fascinating aspects of the human body.

Blessings and Peace,

** A little disclaimer– although I can be somewhat flippant about my own emotional roller coasters, I really believe that anti-depressants are a wonderful invention and do great things for people who truly suffer from anxiety disorders and depression, which, I know for a fact, are very real.

Sometimes I think that many of my most ardent prayers fall on deaf ears. For instance, when I was up last night/morning at 4:15 A.M. with a 20 month old who was fighting off sleep, I fervently prayed for calmness and patience to withstand the ordeal, and not to plop him on the floor, alone in the dark, and go back to bed myself. Instead of finding a calm within a storm, I found tears– lots of them, that I shed for about an hour while my son FINALLY went back to sleep, although, not in time for me to get some extra rest too. And, I must confess, my fury didn’t give way completely either, for after I put my son back in his bed, I preceded to slam the bathroom door to our bedroom as hard as I possibly could to wake my still sleeping husband and threw one of the cats (literally) out of the bathroom when he was whining for his breakfast.

I’ve really been struggling emotionally through this pregnancy, and it’s starting to get on my nerves. When I was pregnant with Garrett, I was the calmest I’d been in my entire life, I think. Even my sister commented on how collected and together I was while pregnant. This time around, the opposite is true. I’m moody, tempermental, angry, and now, weepy. I snap at my husband and my son, going so far as to throw one of my son’s books across the room when he decided he wanted to do that instead of go to bed last night. With the anger and snappishness of course come huge loads of guilt and self-loathing which leads back to the weepy-ness. However, I’ve found in the past few days that just when I think I’ve reached my limit and can’t take anymore, God shows himself in small, unexpected ways.

The first was a conversation I had with my best friend who is now expecting their third child. She told me that she experienced much of what I was describing while pregnant with their second child. Her blood pressure was always up, she was constantly snapping at her husband, and she got extremely furious with their son at least once a day. She assured me that she had talked to other mothers who had a similar experience, and that I was not alone in this hormonal crisis.

The second little ray of hope was a conversation I had today with a colleague who has four children, the youngest of whom is 21 months. She too had been up through the night with her toddler, although her experience included skidding barefoot through dog pee and being told by her husband that she was, essentially, being crabby. She very easily could relate to what I’ve been feeling, and since she has four healthy, well-adjusted children, I figure it will all be o.k.

I know, in the end, that this too shall pass. And I thank God constantly for our son, even in the midst of my anger and frustration he causes. I’m also very grateful today to know that God is still listening to my hormonal rantings and ravings, and that, although I might feel alone at times, is still letting me know he’s there.

Blessings and Peace,
Sara

I had a student in class last week ask me toward the beginning of the hour if he could ask me a question. I looked at him carefully. Although he seemed sincere enough, this is a student who will look for any excuse to get out of working. And– since his friend was whispering to him, “Don’t ask! I think I know what it means– don’t ask!”– I told him that I wasn’t going to answer anything until he got his work finished for the day.

Toward the end of the hour, when there were a couple of minutes left, he asked me again if he could pose his question. Against my better judgment, I said, “Sure-go ahead.” So, here it is…

“Well, someone in our class last hour told another kid that his mom had won a T&A contest. What does that mean?”

I immediately wanted to start banging my head against my desk. I suddenly had 15 pairs of ears and eyes tuned to my every word, something that just doesn’t happen throughout the course of the day. My problem was, despite the obvious, that he was completely sincere in his question. He honestly had no idea what the phrase “T&A” meant and thought that I could tell him. Three thoughts went through my mind. My first thought was, “Can I get fired for answering this question?” Followed by, “If I don’t answer this question, how big a deal will they make of it?” (There’s a similar experience here involving the phrase “S&M” and a computer lab which I was drawing from.) And, finally, “How much integrity will I lose if I avoid this issue all together?”

So, with a moment of careful consideration, I formulated my answer…

“Well, ‘T&A’ is a really not nice way to refer to a woman’s top and bottom parts. And it’s an extremely rude thing to say.”

There was a general murmuring of “ohhhh…” across the classroom, followed by a few, “I still don’t get it”‘s. Yet, overall, the topic was quickly forgotten and the students haven’t brought it up since. I still wondered if I had done the right thing. Did I give them more information han they needed to know? Did I help to pollute their already too sullied minds? There’s such a fine line in working with teenagers. I’ve always believed that as an adult working with teens, you need to be honest. I’ve found that it’s a credibility issue for teens, and if they think you’re just trying to spin something, or hide something from them, then you lose your ability to interact and work with them. On the other hand, if you try and be too much like them, go into BFF mode, you lose your ability to really teach and minister to them. You have to earn their trust, yet be the responsible adult at the same time.

In the end, I feel good about my answer. I don’t know that this conversation would have taken place in many other classrooms, but that’s o.k. And, of course, I will be taking fewer questions from the peanut gallery!

Blessings and Peace,
Sara

Looking back at my blog page, I can’t believe it’s been four months since I last posted! Where does time go? Actually, I know exactly where it goes. Work, family, sleep. But, it’s all good really. I’m about five and a half months along in my pregnancy, and things seem to be going really well. We had an ultrasound last month and got a really cool 3-D picture of Baby Dos’s face. It’s incredible what technology can do. So far, this one isn’t as active as Garrett was, which could be a very good thing.

Garrett is 20 months old now, and may be entering into his rebellious stage. (I refrain from using the term “terrible two’s” because he’s not really terrible, just frustrating.) He’s been testing Mommy and Daddy to no end the past few weeks. Many common phrases heard around our house lately are: “Don’t you use that spoon as a weapon!”, “Let go of the dog’s tail!”, “Don’t pull the dinosaur’s head off!”, “Where are your pants?”, “Sit down– on your bottom!”. Obviously, my master’s degree in education is being put to great use! Garrett is proving to be his mother’s son. He is willful and stubborn, and nothing seems to deter him much when there’s something he’s intent on doing. It’s very tempting sometimes to just walk away and let him climb onto the table to chase the cat, but I suppose there’s no lesson learned in that. Eating and going to sleep are constant battles in our house. Garrett has determined that the only table foods he’s going to eat are oatmeal, yogurt, applesauce, crackers, chips and french fries. Oh, and the occasional tub of ravioli. Except, of course, when he’s at the babysitters, for whom I think he would eat a five-course meal.

I was recently lamenting all of these things to a church member we were visiting, when she reminded me how blessed we were to have these toddler trials and tribulations. Her grandson, who is a little over a year now, just finished treatments for cancer and is now in remission. I started thinking about all of the mother’s out there whose children aren’t eating well because of sickness or lack of food. Of mother’s who dread bedtime, not because it’s a fight to get their child to bed, but because there’s a fear that they won’t wake in the morning. And I realized, in that moment, how wonderful it is to have a child who can chase the cats around the house, who can bring me the same book 300 times in a row to read, who can yank a spoon out of my hand and fling food all over the kitchen– a child I can hold in the middle of the night when he wakes up and gently rock back to sleep, a child who wakes up singing happily to himself in the morning (at least for a few minutes) and can look forward to a carefree day.

I didn’t get my son a gift for Valentine’s Day, mostly because we have no money and he doesn’t notice anyway. (He also got a balloon from the ladies at the local flower shop which he likes better than most of the toys he has.) But I was thinking, although Valentine’s Day has passed, about making a small donation to St. Jude’s Children’s Hospital, or giving a mosquito net to Nothing But Nets. Some small token that could potentially make a difference for another child, and allow another mother to experience the everyday frustrations and blessings that should come with a 20 month old.

Blessings and Peace,
Sara

I’m sitting here at my desk at school, papers piled high on each side, with 19 minutes left of my daily 47 minute plan period. My initial thought was to tear into the book projects I collected almost three weeks ago now, but instead I find myself perusing through my favorite blogs, checking in with people I know and have known over the years. I forget how important connections can be. Not connections as in the, “How can knowing this person get me something or someplace I want” sense of the word, but connections as in remembering that there are people out there you really care about whose lives are moving forward at the same warp speed as yours and if you don’t keep up you’re going to completely miss them. (Yes, I know, it’s a run-on sentence.) It’s not that I don’t want to stay connected, I just don’t always feel like I have the energy to do it. On a typical day, I’m up around 5:45, out the door by 6:45, home by 4:30, putting Garrett to bed around 8:30 and crashing myself by 10:00. It’s hard to make time for connections. However, I think the connections and relationships we have with others are what keeps us going. They support and sustain us, keep us grounded and help us grow. For many people in my generation, our friends have become our community, and a key to a successful community is communication. Therefore, I’m going to try and do better about making connections. To drop a quick line or make a quick call just to say, “Hey, what’s up? How’s it going? Anything new? I miss you.”

Blessings and Peace,
Sara