You Just Can't Make This Stuff Up!

The musings and hilarity of a wife, mother, and teacher.

[joctharding]

Aunt Jean

I was always drawn to the idea of church. From the time I was little, I gazed longingly as we drove past them, wishing that I could be one of the lucky people going inside. We weren't “church people" so I suppose it was the allure of the unknown. Around first grade, I got my big break. I had the opportunity to be a flower girl. I could not contain my excitement! It might have had a little to do with wearing a fancy dress and holding a bouquet, but it was mostly because the wedding was in the white church with the big steeple right off of the Black Canyon Highway- one of my favorites. Before knowing any of the details, I asked my mom if that was the church and sure enough, it was. What are the chances?

We moved to a new house when I was in 3rd grade and come to think of it, Aunt Jean was the realtor who found it for us. I loved everything about it- the pool, great places to ride my bike, and most of all, a church within walking distance. They had their service times posted, so one day, soon after the move, I informed my parents that I would be going. They loaned me their alarm clock because they had no intention of being awake that early on a Sunday, let alone joining me. Dad helped me set it for the correct time and the rest is history. The alarm went off, I put on my Sunday best and walked my 8-year-old self down the street to the Methodist church. Don’t ask me how I checked myself into Sunday school, but I did. The idea of it seems so absurd that I may question my memory if it weren’t for the Bible I have to prove it with an entry at the beginning complete with the date and the name of my Sunday School teacher.

This was a lot of words to get to the heart of the matter...the inspiration behind these memories.

My Great-Aunt Jean passed away. She was someone I didn’t see enough of in spite of living very close together and I always felt bad about not visiting more. You knew when you visited that you were probably going to laugh harder than you had in a year because she had an endless collection of hilarious stories that only she could tell. Don’t get me wrong- she had more than her fair share of hurt- a husband who died suddenly and way too young, as well as a son, and myriad health issues of her own, but she could always muster joy. My memories of her house include hiding under her fig tree, playing Barrel o’ Monkeys with my cousins, and laughing around her kitchen table that often had a puzzle on it.

Well, this wonderful Catholic woman caught wind of the fact that the Methodists had gotten a hold of me and she swooped in for the rescue. The next thing I knew I was setting the alarm for way earlier than the previous Sundays and I was looking out the window waiting for her Ford Thunderbird rolling up the driveway in the six o’clock hour to pick me up for mass at Ss. Simon & Jude Cathedral. Stepping inside, I knew that I had made it to the big league of churches- the stained glass, the music, the holy water, the wine, the kneeling, the standing, the kneeling, the standing- I loved the ritual and the calm and I couldn’t wait to learn every word of every prayer and hymn.

I don’t think Aunt Jean realized the extent of my obsession with church. I know this because she thought she was sweetening the deal by taking me to Bill Johnson’s Big Apple afterward. I knew this was simply a pathetic attempt to win me from the Methodists, but little did she know, I was already won. I would never have told her this though because I was not a girl to turn down a short stack.

I don’t remember if this lasted weeks or months. I’m sure it was less time than I think and I’m not sure why it stopped. It probably had something to do with soccer tournaments and the fact that she eventually brought the whole fam damily (not a typo) into the fold. I became a horrid middle schooler and church was less appealing once my parents were waking me up instead of their alarm clock, but the seeds were planted. It was one of those childhood memories that doesn’t seem like much until one day you realize it was everything.

I’ll never forget what Aunt Jean did for me and my family. Those tiny seeds she planted in me ultimately resulted in the greatest gift of all- salvation- my own, my parents, my children. I’m still a “church person,” but it’s no longer about steeples, stained glass, and rituals. It’s all about Jesus.

Thank you for everything, Aunt Jean! Thank you for the house, the pancakes, the laughter, the rides to church, the foundation, the memories, and most of all- faith.

[joctharding]

He Has Made Everything Beautiful in His Time

“Being a parent makes you a better teacher. Being a teacher does not make you a better parent.” A, now retired, teacher friend said this once and it felt like a gut punch because it could not have been more true. 

I was the teacher mom who remembered it was picture day for my class but then forgot to make sure my own children walked out the door looking presentable. I was also the teacher mom, who had the school bus frame with slots for each year’s school picture, but some of the slots remain empty because I forgot to send in the order form. To top it all off, I was also the mom who trained her 1st grader to pack her own lunch every day. I wish I could say it was an intentional parenting strategy, but in reality, she was traumatized by having her lunch tray taken out of her hands at the register and replaced with the infamous pb&j because I forgot to put money on her lunch account in spite of her numerous reminders and smiley face hand stamp reminders from the cafeteria. The list could go on and on, but one particular parenting fail stands out above the rest. 

Here’s the background. Emma loves flowers. She always has. She loves giving them and receiving them. She would frequently buy flowers for herself and she is the first to bring flowers to an auntie who just had a baby, a sick relative, or a heartbroken friend. 

She was in choir and theater in high school. At her first performance, I noticed the mob of proud parents walking in with bouquets. Being new to the performing arts world, my hands were empty. I was ashamed and determined to not let that happen again. Fast forward to her senior year...we’re racing into her final performance...still forgetting flowers...just feeling lucky to be on time. By that point, it’s almost as if our empty hands are screaming, “Hey, you’re lucky we’re even here!” I was, yet again, disgusted but had unfortunately grown comfortable identifying as the mother who would never remember to bring flowers. God is good though and I was saved by her uncle John who did remember. He was mostly hoping to impress the girl who is now the wife and mother of his four children, so he only gets half credit, which, I guess, is still better than no credit. 

Emma started dating a boy in high school who would randomly get her flowers. Sometimes, he would bring them when he picked her up for a date, and sometimes he would just drop them off on his way home from work. It seemed like he brought her flowers at least once a week. The first several times I would ask Emma what the occasion was and each time, she would explain that it was “just because.” Naturally, the mother who never remembered flowers even when there was a reason, was confused by this gesture. Sometimes it was a dozen roses and sometimes it was those hideous neon daisies that I would see at the store and wonder who on Earth buys them.  I thought this was cute but crazy at the same time. I would mentally calculate the money he must spend on flowers for Emma and wonder what he could buy if he just saved the money instead of spending it on something that would be dead in a week. 

Thankfully, this hopeless romantic married my Emma one year ago today in our backyard. I don’t know if he still brings her flowers. I imagine that he does, but adulting has likely lessened the frequency. 

From the time my kids were little, I would pray for their future spouses. I didn’t think to do it all the time but it came up occasionally. The prayer that was consistently part of the conversation though was a plea to God to fill in the gaps and I have consistently seen the answer to this prayer when I see all that my children have become in spite of me. 

It just occurred to me on my nightly walk that God sent Tyler to Emma to fill the gap. He gave Emma the flowers she never got from us and so much more. In hindsight, I suppose we should’ve contributed to Tyler’s flower fund instead of judging his spending habits. I suppose it’s not too late to start.

There are no words to convey just how incredibly blessed we are that God brought Tyler into our lives. When I think about all of the events- some good and some not so good- that had to fall perfectly into place to bring them together, I see the Lord’s provision through it all and wonder why I wasted so much time worrying and so little time praying in comparison. 

Thank you, Lord, for filling in the gaps; there were so many. Thank you for the union of Emma and Tyler. Bless their marriage and let them always see Your hand in their lives and feel Your boundless love for them in the joys and even the trials. May they pray more than worry and lean heavily on each other, but mostly on You. Amen.

P.S. When you get back from Hawaii, we need to see how well the top of your wedding cake held up so I can get the corner of my freezer back. Love, Mom 

[joctharding]

If I’d Only Known...

I would’ve hugged those kids so hard before letting them leave on that Friday, March 13.   Some of them would’ve hated it; some of them would’ve loved it.  All of them would eventually understand why that day was different than most.   

If I had only known, things would’ve been different that week.  When one of the kids noticed a pigeon starting to build a nest outside the window, instead of reminding them to focus, I might’ve called all 28 of them over to the window to see it too.  When one of them remembered a science activity from earlier in the year when we tested out different frisbees, maybe I would’ve pulled those frisbees out of their plastic container for a special frisbee recess.  Instead of worrying about how I would ever get them to settle down after seeing all of their leprechaun traps tripped, maybe I would just go with it;  let them dance Irish jigs and just enjoy each other’s company for that last hour of 2nd Grade.  If I had known that would be our last day together, I certainly would not have forgotten to get Lucky Charms at the grocery store for St. Patrick’s Day math.  I definitely would’ve made sure that those cute little “I ♡ MOM” keychains were ready for them to give to their mamas tomorrow on Mother’s Day.

If I had known then what I know now, things would’ve been different.  They would’ve been different because now I see the tired faces of their parents as they try to complete their online family math interview after laying off employees and figuring out how to keep their business afloat.  Instead of talking about how they used math to determine how many employees they could keep and how many had to go, they talked about using math to double the recipe to make dinner for the family.  Now I can read between the lines of the late-night e-mails from parents trying to explain the difficulties their child is having getting logged into the website for ELA practice.  The frustration is masked with kindness and patience, but I’m fairly certain there’s a mom on the other side of my screen crying because she is so overwhelmed.  They don’t want to bother me, but what they don’t realize is that I want to be bothered.  I want to feel like I am still contributing something of value rather than just more frustration.    

If only I’d known, things would be different, but I didn’t and so they aren’t.  The reality is that even though I wish I could jump right through their computer screens to solve the technology woes, or help with the “new math”, or help the kids to settle and focus on completing their daily lessons, I can’t.  While I will do the very best I can from this computer, ultimately, it’s all on them and I hate that.  The home-school relationship is so important.  I rely heavily on parents to support what’s happening in the classroom and right now, in reverse, I just don’t feel like I’m pulling my weight.  I know that there is nothing else that I could possibly do.  I know that I didn’t cause this.  I know that I don’t have little kids at home anymore and I don’t know what they’re going through.  I know that I’m sorry and I miss their kids so so much.  We have all been forced to accept these new terms, but that certainly doesn’t mean we have to like them. 

This week was Teacher Appreciation Week.  I was showered with sweet emails, digital gift cards, video messages, lawn signs, and more.  I..felt...so...incredibly...guilty...about...it.  Don’t get me wrong.  I am so thankful and felt so very loved, but I simultaneously felt like a fraud.  I felt like I should be the one appreciating them.  They are the ones in the trenches.  They are the ones executing the plan and the saddest part is that many of them probably don’t even feel like they’re doing a very good job.  They’re the ones getting it done in whatever way possible and they are the ones appreciating me?!  

In the meantime, what I will do is wake up every morning, fix my coffee, get out of my pajamas, and put on a smile.  I will sit down at my computer to record the next chapter of our read aloud and pretend that it is the highlight of my day.  I will try to make them feel like they’re sitting right in front of me as they should be.  I will work on my Sunday e-mail to families.  I will try to find just the right words to encourage them to get through another week of shelter in place.  I’ll go through the online homework activities and probably tear up because I usually do listening to their sweet voices and seeing their faces as they explain to me that the fraction is 2/5 because 2 out of 5 of their scrunchies are pink.  I will chuckle as I watch the video of the homemade xylophone made from different bottles, 1 of which once held wine.  I will cringe as a student goes into mom’s office to ask for help during her video while mom is on the phone with a client.  I will watch the video of the student retelling the story two times because I realized that I wasn’t listening the first time because little brother was photobombing in the background.  Lastly, I will pray.  I will pray for them.  I will pray for their patience...their jobs...their family...their tp supply.  

Perhaps it was better that we didn’t see this coming, but for now, I’m not so sure.  Mostly, I just look forward to the day that I will be able to see them all again.  The sadness will return as I see them one-by-one this Fall when we return to school.  The reality that our sweet little 2019-2020 school family will never again be a unit will rush over me and there will be tears...because that’s just what I do.  

[joctharding]

and if not, He is still good

Two weeks ago, I went with my daughter and friend to look for flowers for wedding arrangements.  We went from store to store in the pouring rain.  As a teacher, it was the start of my Spring Break.  My school district had warned that Spring Break would likely be extended and the empty freezer cases at Trader Joe’s were evidence that the country was beginning to bristle at the Corona warnings.  The prospect of having the week before Emma’s wedding to plan and prep with her and not having to do the 3 days of sub plans I expected to was kind of exciting.  It naively seemed like God was working everything out.  We shopped for flowers in the pouring rain and brought them home to start playing.  Arrangements and boutonnieres were made.  At the end of the night, we were so excited for the vision we had in our minds of tables full of wildflowers and illuminated with candles and twinkle lights.  While I drove my friend home, my sweet Emma had cleaned everything up and distributed the arrangements throughout the house for us to enjoy as long as possible. 

One week later, it was time to gather them up and toss them out.  Petals were falling and wilted, leaves were brown, and water was murky.  It was time.  It was also time to face the fact that there would not be a wedding on March 28.

One of the hardest things in life is knowing when to “call it.”  We knew it was time to “call it” on the wedding when we realized that precious friends and family would be unable to attend.  We were in denial for a good two days before finally waking up to the harsh reality.  In perspective, grief might seem a bit dramatic, but I don’t think we’d be human if we didn’t admit to grieving the vision that we’ve had for so many months leading up to this.    

As I stand back and look at the flowers on this table, I can’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude that almost instantly wipes out the sadness.  I see the flowers that have seen better days arranged by a friend and colleague, who gave up a Friday night away from her family to dream with us.  I see the vases found by friends and friends of friends scouring the shops for several months to ensure that we had enough for table centerpieces.  

And then there are the things unseen in this picture- the bridal shower which was a compilation of talent, resources, and the love of lots of family and friends.  Multiple weekends of grandpa, dad, uncles, brother, and cousins working here at the house trimming trees, painting, installing pavers, and more.   The room that once was Emma’s, now bursting with all of the things that go into celebrating the joining of two lives.  

And then there are the things unseen by most- our dear friend and wedding bartender experimenting on his own time with recipes for the bride & groom signature drinks.  James coming home from work and then going to work on the yard thanks to his trusty headlamp.  Aunt Liz searching out eucalyptus trees to “borrow” some greenery from. 

I could go on and on, but for now, I’m just so very grateful for my friends and family.  I have so much to be grateful for-  health, relationships, laughter, beautiful weather- and a mighty God who is indeed working everything out just like he’s been doing all along.  

Emma and Tyler will still get married but now it truly will be the celebration of the century.  By October, we will be on the other side of this and ready for a beautiful party.  I can hardly wait!

As the Veggie Tales always say. “A thankful heart is a happy heart.”  My heart is happy!  

[joctharding]

It’s Just a Couch, Right?

So, this is what happens when you are vacuuming on a Saturday and complain to your husband about how gross your 17 year old couch is and he says, “Okay, let’s go get a new couch.”  So, our beautiful new sofa and loveseat arrive tomorrow.  I am thrilled even though the realization of new furniture meant the rearranging of furniture which meant the rearranging of things on the walls which meant patching and painting and...  Once the excitement of furniture shopping faded and reality set in, this little sofa switcharoo sent me on an unexpected trip down memory lane. It may just be that with a 20 year old and 16 year old, I am in a nostalgic, sentimental phase of life, but when we finally figured out how old the couch was, it was all over.  

We brought the couch home to our first house.  According to the salesman at the furniture store, we are about 12 years overdue for a new couch. Anyways, Emma was a toddler and I was pregnant with Wyatt.  It was the first nice piece of furniture we purchased.  It was a big comfy couch (no pun intended).  One of the first memories I have is when Wyatt was a newborn.  He was so good and slept really well, but for a while, he would wake up at about 3:00 a.m.  In my attempts to let James sleep for a few more minutes before he had to wake up to go to work, I would go get grunting (he never cried) baby Wyatt and we would head out to the couch.  I would fall asleep nursing him and he would fall asleep with his belly full.  James would kiss us both on the cheek on his way out the door.  

The next memory is from September 11, 2001. James called shortly after leaving for work and told me to turn on the T.V.  I turned it on as the 2nd plane was flying into the tower.  I don’t think I moved for over an hour. When I finally snapped out of my terror-filled trance, I looked down at Wyatt to discover that his sweet chubby cheeks had been catching my tears. 

I sat on this couch as I graded the papers of over 400 1st and 2nd graders.  I sat on this couch when I replied to the e-mails of over 800 of their parents and step-parents, way too late at night I might add.  

I was sitting on this couch as I read thousands of pages of both mediocre and wonderful books.  I can’t even venture to guess how many times this couch heard me read “Miss Spider’s Tea Party”  to Emma.  I know that I have it memorized to this day, so at least 2,000 I would think. I’ll never forget leaving Emma and Wyatt home alone while I attended a summer meeting.  After worrying all day, I came home to find them both sitting on the couch reading their books.  That was the summer of the Percy Jackson series.  I was sitting on the couch as Emma walked out crying,  I was instantly alarmed thinking that something serious had happened.  However, I quickly discovered that the tears were brought on when she finished the last book and realized that the fantasy was over.  

I have cried more tears on this couch than I care to count.  Friends and family have sat on this couch.  Some are still with us and some have passed.     This couch has seen the best of times and the worst of times on 10th Avenue.  As I sit here typing and recounting the years, I am sad.  Many of the firsts have now become lasts. There is one last I wish I had seen coming...or maybe not...no...definitely not.  It would’ve been too hard and I never would have let him go.  At the end of a long day, I would lean against the left side of the couch and put my feet up on the couch.  Wyatt, in his Superman PJ’s complete with cape would crawl into the v made by my body and we would snuggle until I finally tucked him into his race car bed.  Now that little boy is a very big boy and he fills up the entire couch when he sprawls out on it and it’s not nearly as cute. Sometimes in the summer when we are both off and stay up way too late, he will come out and work on a puzzle with me while we watch “The Real Housewives of Orange County” and we will fall asleep on the couch, me on my side and him on the other with his feet in my face.  There was a last day for the snuggle in the Superman PJ’s and there will be a last day for Real Housewives and feet in the face.  I see it coming very soon, but I hope I don’t know exactly when it happens because I would never let him go and it would probably be uglier than me sitting here sobbing and typing right now.  

How did this all get started?  Oh, yeah...a couch!  Tomorrow new couches are coming.  I can’t wait!

[joctharding]

I’m baaaaack!

Well, I’m back.  The bitterness I was left with after accidentally deleting my last Tumbler account has finally diminished.  Several years ago, I decided to start a blog to document all of the crazy stuff that seems to happen in my life. Well, I simply wanted to delete the app off of my phone, but in doing so, deleted the entire account.  Anyway, friends and family keep telling me, “You’ve got to write a book!”  While that is definitely a goal, I don’t quite have enough material yet.  I am close, but I also need to let some years pass before I publish any crazy teaching stories if you know what I mean.  I have a file on my school laptop called, “Kids Say the Darndest Things” after the Art Linkletter book I loved reading when I was little.  I use it to document the crazy, hilarious, and just absurd things that tend to happen in a 2nd grade classroom.  I also have a file at school where I have printed and saved all of the crazy e-mails sent by admin and parents.  This file is bursting and may need to expand to a 2nd file.  My work wife knows that if anything ever happens to me, she is to retrieve these files immediately.  (Parents- think twice before sending that e-mail to Johnny’s teacher.)  

I felt like a blog would be a good place to start documenting and hashing out ideas.  This summer I had the amazing good fortune to attend the ISTE Conference in San Antonio.  It was at an event here where I met someone by the name of Christine Pinto (@PintoBeanz11). In the few short minutes I spoke with her, she told me to start a blog and the rest is history.  

I absolutely LOVE my family, but they do some crazy stuff.  I LOVE my job! My students and colleagues keep me in it, but they do some crazy things too.  I love sharing what I have learned and I love making people laugh. Fortunately, both parts of my life provide me with lots of great material.    I am so excited to begin this blogging adventure...AGAIN!