I remember bits and pieces of my elementary school days…I remember most of my teachers’ names, of course my friends from that time, and an occasional memory here and there.  However, 1978-79 stands out pretty clearly for me.  That was the year I was in fourth grade and I LOVED fourth grade.

We studied dinosaurs, we studied the Civil War and I even remember the project I did with my friend Andrea where we wrote letters from the front line of the battle back home to our pretend families.  I recall burning the edges of the paper so the letters would look old and worn.  I have committed to memory a heated game of kickball where I was standing on the foul line and Chuck (the best kicker in the class) kicked one right down the foul line and before I could even move, my face stopped the ball and was a red, swollen mess for the rest of the day!  It was also the year boys began to enter my life (although I was not ready for them!)  Someone in our class had a “kissing game”.  The game was just a girl and a boy and when you pushed the button, the heads spun and landed on the girl kissing the boy, the boy kissing the girl, both heads turned away or the boy and girl kissing each other.  It landed on the boy and girl kissing each other and some boys in the class teased that since a boy named Kurt liked me, it was he and I kissing each other.  I spent the rest of the day crying because I was so embarrassed.  It was also the year Pat, a boy from my class that lived in my neighborhood, came to my front door and brought me a rose.  My mother called me upstairs to accept it and made me say thank you and then I immediately retreated to my room, refusing to come out because I thought it meant I had to be his girlfriend and I didn’t want to be his girlfriend.  Although my mom explained to me I didn’t need to be anyone’s girlfriend, I was so traumatized I refused to go to school the next day, thereby crushing my dream of the perfect attendance award I had been working so hard towards.  Why in the world do I remember all of these things so distinctly?  Because of Mrs. Long…my fourth grade teacher.

I loved Mrs. Long and she loved me.  How did I know she loved me?  I just knew.  I knew by the way she never lost patience with me.  I knew by the way she spent time with me outside of school and the letters she sent home to my parents.  I knew by the way she gave me the important job of filling out her grade book because I had such good handwriting (probably illegal now!).  I knew by the way she listened to me and never made my problems seem silly or inconsequential.  I knew because she made me feel special.  And although she never said it, I just knew deep down inside I was her favorite.

I may not have been the typical kid that often writes about the difference a teacher made in their life.  I didn’t come from a low-income family or a broken home.  I wasn’t suffering with a family secret, bullied, or having trouble making friends.  I wasn’t struggling with my grades or a behavior problem.  In fact, I was the complete opposite.  I was a straight A student from a middle class, loving family with lots of friends.  But I was a kid, like every other kid.  Our differences didn’t matter; we all wanted the same thing.   We craved adult attention.  We longed to feel special.  We wanted someone to really like us, not pretend to like us or like us because they had to, but really like us.  We yearned for someone to truly care about all the things important to a ten year-old and Mrs. Long did all these things.   I would venture to guess that every single student in her class that year felt like her favorite.  That’s just the kind of teacher she was.

Wouldn’t it be huge if every child had a Mrs. Long in their life?  Wouldn’t it be even more amazing if YOU were the Mrs. Long in a young person’s life?  You don’t have to be a teacher to be a Mrs. Long, there are many other opportunities.  Maybe it’s a child in your neighborhood or a friend of your own child.  Maybe it’s the teenager in your Sunday school group or the young man you coach.  Maybe it’s the pre-teen in your Girl Scout troop or the child who stops in your store often.  Maybe it’s your niece or your grandson.  Or maybe you are a teacher and to you I say THANK YOU.  I see you emulating Mrs. Long every single day with many different students, each with a myriad of needs.  And you do this year after year.

I never got a chance to tell Mrs. Long what an impact she made on my life.  I don’t know where she is or where life has taken her in all these years.  Maybe someone reading this does and I would love to hear from you!  But in case I never get a chance to tell her, my humble way to honor her is to strive every day to walk in her footsteps and pass forward the most valuable gifts she gave me…her time, her attention, and her love.  I fall short on a daily basis, especially with my own kids, but if each of us was intentional in our commitment to be a “Mrs. Long”, what a wonderful, loving world it would be!

Who was your “Mrs. Long”?  How was your life impacted by the attention of a loving adult?  I’d love to hear your story!

I’ve started this week’s blog post about five times and I keep hitting the delete button.  I’m just not feeling it this week.  I’m in a funk.  Everything I write feels blah because I feel blah.  I’m tired and cranky and overwhelmed and moody (yes, poor Todd!).  I’ve not been as productive as I want to be because I’ve been having too much fun being the guest of honor at my own pity party.  I want to climb in the bed and stay…for days.  Everything feels hard and I’m resentful because everything “seems” easy for everyone else, although I know it’s not.

I have nothing witty to say, no great lesson to cast upon you, I’m just showing up.  And you know what?  That’s ok.  Sometimes just showing up is the best we can do.  Although we don’t want to burden others with our sob stories, sometimes it’s nice to know that others have these kinds of days.  A kind of day where my hair feels too short, my thighs feel too big, my house feels too messy, my laundry feels too overwhelming, my job feels too scary, my kids feel too old, my friends feel too distant, my blog feels too insignificant, my heart feels too heavy, my diet feels too boring, my moods feel too manic, my smiles feel too absent, and my guilt feels too consuming because I have no “good reason” to feel all these things…I just do.

Here’s the thing.  I showed up today and I’m going to show up tomorrow…and the next day and the next.  Because that’s what we do.  We keep showing up until our gloomy days feel sunny again.  And they will.  That’s the beauty and irony of life…nothing is permanent.  Whatever you may be experiencing in this moment, know that this too shall pass.  It will, I promise.

I posted this quote on my LimitlessLessons facebook page this morning and I love it. 

I’ve written about being brave in a previous blog post and I sincerely believe that one of the most courageous acts is just showing up. I love the fact that we get the gift of a new day…a new beginning…a fresh start.  So, as Ralph Waldo Emerson so perfectly said, “Finish each day and be done with it. You have done what you could. Some blunders and absurdities no doubt crept in; forget them as soon as you can. Tomorrow is a new day. You shall begin it serenely and with too high a spirit to be encumbered with your old nonsense.”

See you tomorrow!  Maybe even with a new blog post and a smile on my face!

About six years ago, we completely renovated our house.  When I say renovated, I mean pretty much gutted it and started over.  I handled that the way I handle most things in my life…it handled me!  I was working full time, we were living in a very small rental home, I had two elementary aged kids, and things were happening much faster than I anticipated.  The workers helping to build the house even “packed” some of my stuff and a decade worth of my life was stored all over the place.  It was a mess.   

When we got moved in to the new house, I realized what a mess it really was.  Boxes were missing, some of our stuff had gotten ruined when a basement where we had things stored flooded, and many items were lost in the move.  One item that turned up missing was a box with my personal files in it.  All of the files were very important and special to me, but one of the files was an accumulation of memories of my dad…his will, the letter he wrote me before he died, newspaper articles about him, mementos from his funeral, a genealogy he worked on before his death, cards, pictures, and a lifetime of other stuff that I had deemed important enough to keep all those years.

I searched for that box for about three years, never allowing myself to believe it was actually gone.  I would not permit myself to even think about it.  Once I realized it really was gone, I was heartbroken.  I felt like my dad had died for a second time.  Now, not only was he gone, but all of his memories were gone as well.  I have refused to even think about it because it is so crushing to me and I have hated myself for ever letting it out of my sight.

Fast forward to a couple of weekends ago (no, I didn’t find the files!)  Todd and I decided to take Bella for a walk to a piece of land called “the love tunnel”.  I’m assuming it’s called this because (1) it’s a tunnel and (2) it’s spray painted with all sorts of expressions of love.  When Todd and I were in high school, we added our names to the tunnel, along with a date that had a special meaning to us.  I had not been up there in many years and my curiosity piqued as to what I would see when I got there.  Well, it was gone.  Not a trace of those two young, naive kids who believed our love was as invincible as that spray paint.

But in that moment as I searched the tunnel wall for any sign of the dedication of our love, I realized something very important.  I didn’t need to “see” the painted words in order to remember that day almost thirty years ago and what we wrote.  And I don’t need to “see” the file I kept on my dad to remember how much I loved him and how much he loved me.  I also don’t need to “see” all the important people in my life to remember what they mean to me.  My love and my memories of all the special people I have loved throughout my life are in a much safer place than a tunnel wall or a file…they are in my heart.  That’s the place where they will never get lost and where they will never fade.  So, I’m forgiving myself for losing that file, I’m going to stop worrying that without the “things” I might one day forget my dad,  and I’m just going to remember… because as long as I remember, the people I love will never be forgotten.

I’m sitting here thinking about what’s expected of me in my job.  My most important (and most difficult) responsibility is the expectation to teach my students about character.  Very simply, this is what is expected of me…

I’m expected to teach them about respect.  To explain they don’t have to be everyone’s friend, but they must be respectful and kind and treat others the way they want to be treated.  Bullying others is not ok and they must stand up for each other and what they believe in. 

I’m expected to teach them about responsibility.  To help them see they must sometimes do the hard stuff before they can do the fun stuff and that people count on them to do their jobs. 

I’m expected to teach them to be thankful.  To be thankful for this country, for our school, for the people who give them the privilege to lead the life they lead.  And to do more than feel thankful…to speak of and show their gratitude.

I’m expected to teach them to be caring.  To think of others before they think of themselves sometimes and that relationships are as important as being “right”.  Giving is more rewarding than receiving and doing things for others is the cornerstone of a kind world and kind heart.

I’m expected to teach them to persevere.  To work hard and never give up.  If you try hard enough, you will be able to accomplish anything.  To take small steps towards a larger purpose and to keep moving forward.

I’m expected to teach them to be trustworthy.  To understand the importance of keeping their promises and sticking to their word.  They must not lie, cheat, or steal.  Trust is something very sacred and once it is lost, it’s almost impossible to get back. 

I’m expected to teach them to be a good citizen.  To honor our country, to take care of our earth, to follow rules, and to take care of each other.  To be a good sport and to not kick someone when they are down, but hold out your hand to help them up.  To be humble and to be proud.

I’m expected to teach them self-discipline.  To help them see they are responsible for their own choices and they must pay consequences for those choices sometimes.  To show them they have full control over their actions and behaviors and they cannot blame others for their shortcomings.

I’m expected to teach them to cooperate.  To model that compromise is a crucial and essential skill.  That you must really listen to others and try to see others’ points of view in order to accomplish anything.  That everyone’s role is important and necessary within a group and people count on you to do your part.

Then I turn on the news.  And I wonder if I should be teaching my elementary school character lessons to our politicians instead.  To them I say…you expect me to do these things to keep my job?  Well, I expect you to do them as well.  It’s time to grow up.