the view from my office

i am my own boss.
i set my own schedule, pursue my own interests, make my own deadlines.
every day of the week is summer break and a snow day all in one.
i don't have to ask permission to take time off when i want a christmas holiday.
i take my life's work with me.
i work overtime for back rubs and baby kisses.
i am a nutritionist, a chef, an artist, a writer, a nurse, a counselor, a tickle monster, a teacher, a soother, a song writer, a story teller, a therapist, a circus act, a child development specialist, a one-man-band, a party planner, an organizer, an accountant, a mad scientist.
i am the love of two lives.
i am a milk maker.  i totally just said that.
i am base in a game of chase.  i am a jungle gym.  i am a down duvet of warmth and comfort.
i am an expert at mimicking animal sounds, sneaking spinach into other foods, making the itsy bitsy spider go up the water spout, cutting up butternut squash, and picking the perfect avocado.
i speak baby.
i make to-do lists.
i cross off to-do lists.
i decide what can be left undone.
i collect recipes.
i create menus.
i buy groceries.
i organize our fridge.
i throw out rotten cilantro and pasta past it's prime.
i push bright green peas through a fine mesh strainer.
i make sure we eat things like blueberries and quinoa and lentils and whole wheat, and sometimes pizza and ice cream too.
i make breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
i bake.
i straighten up our bed and fluff our pillows.
i scrub blackberry stains out of tiny white onesies, and collect collar stays and stray cuff links.
i pick up random shoes, jackets, and bags, and give them a home.
i turn on good music.
i talk and sing and play all day long, because that's liam's work too.
i stack board books and put little cars and finger puppets into baskets.
i sort the mail, and make sure we always have stamps.
i make vacuum lines all over the carpet.

i scour our mold loving single paned windowsills.

i empty and load the dishwasher, wipe the counter tops, and sweep the floors.
i scrub the toilet, and the shower, and the sinks.  i make them sparkle and smell like lemons.
i take out the garbage.

some days i wear a dress.  

some days i wear pajamas.
some days i feel like a stay-at-home mom.
some days i feel like a stay anywhere but home mom.
some days i eat breakfast at 6am.  some days i eat breakfast at 1pm.
some days i eat breakfast at 6am, 1pm, and 8pm.
i decorate. i rearrange. i grow things.
i read books about language development, sleep cycles, psychosocial behavior, and Hogwarts.
i store ideas and activities for the future.
i plan.
i daydream.
i have time to exercise,
and read scriptures,
and write,
and paint,
and practice the guitar,
and call a friend who's been on my mind,
and jot down little love notes to hide around the house.

some days i take a nap.
some days i organize the laundry room.
some days i don't do a single thing but roll around the living room floor with liam.
i worry about bullies, peer pressure, pornography, chicken pox, stitches, and a gazillion other things.
i make stove top potpourri, light candles, pick flowers, turn on twinkle lights, hang paper snowflakes.
i make waffles on the weekend.
i buy balloons and frost cupcakes.
i scheme.
i wrap my arms around mr. braniff when he comes home from work.
i ask him about his day, and become funny and distracting when it's a day not worth talking about.
i make him chicken tortilla soup, even though i can't stand it.

i made sure to marry a man who works just as hard inside our home as he does outside it.
i throw impromptu dance parties in our living room.
i make sure that our baby bag is packed with books, diapers, sunscreen, and emergency snacks.

i clip baby fingernails, brush baby teeth, and clean every crevice of our baby's little body.
i change a lot of diapers.
i try to include liam in whatever i'm doing, even if it means it takes twice as long.
i build block towers.
i wipe away tears.
i make sure every outlet in the house is covered, and that the bath water isn't too hot.
i am constantly on the look out for new ways to see liam's smile.

i keep my cool.

i try to remember that my attitude sets the tone of our home.
i sing lullabies.
i wipe clean sticky fingers and drippy noses.

i go on nature walks, blow bubbles, make picnics, look at tree bark, examine leaves and sticks, point out shapes in clouds, wash off sand from between baby toes, and look at lady bugs and caterpillars.

i am a tradition creator, a celebration instigator, a memory maker.

i'm a wife, a mother, a stephanie.
i have the best job in existence.

the view from my office

i am so thankful i get to spend my days loving and teaching and playing and singing and creating and exploring.  i could have never anticipated or understood the challenges of working with children until i became immersed in their expanding universe.  it's more difficult and more rewarding than i could have ever imagined.  watching the wheels of understanding turn as they explore and discover, the look of triumph over a piece of broccoli they skewered with their fork, the words they repeat, the songs they learn, the challenges they overcome, puts this great big confusing world into clear perspective for me.  how easily they laugh, how quick they are to forgive, to trust, to love, to learn, shows me a better way to be.  i feel like the luckiest girl because the view from where i sit is pretty spectacular.  

bye bye babies

preschool was harder than college.  i'm just sayin'.  some of the babies in my classroom even reminded me of a few of my roommates.  ah good times.  it's super weird that both are behind me now.  when i was in the thick of each season it felt like the leaves would never change and summer would go on forever.  and then before i realized it was happening, they were both over, and i had completed another chapter, filled with dog eared pages of moments i want to remember, with other sections i'd be happy to simply skim over or forget altogether.  they both feel like epic journeys, significant experiences, and tremendous accomplishments.  memorable blocks of time that shaped and defined me.  and the most surprising to me, both were difficult to say goodbye to.  college because i didn't know who to be or what to do now that i wasn't a student with a schedule for next semester, and preschool because of the babes.  the most important parts of my day were not things i can put on a resume or may even be noticeable to anyone but me.  they were the little decisions and details that made rays of sunshine brighten even the darkest days.  i loved putting an extra broccoli on jannakes plate because i know it's her favorite. stroking eleanor's face while she drifts to sleep.  high-fiving seaton when he throws his tissue in the garbage can and seeing his exultant little smile.  seeing james share his toy with isabel all by himself after three days of toy snatching and tug-o-wars and meltdowns and teaching moments.  snuggling landon until he feels brave enough to get back on his toppled scooter.  celebrating with zara when she finally swallows solids.  singing abc's to bobbing heads and babies babbling along.  watching nine little strangers become thick as thieves.  

things i never want to forget:

the way they grow from playing with trucks to wanting to know the difference between a bulldozer and digger.
their chubby cheeks, pudgy fingers, and bright eyes.
their sleepy faces after nap time.
the feeling of their arms locked around my neck when they hug me in the mornings.
mealtime cheers!
nine pairs of shoes lined in a row.
little fingers pointing to snowflakes swaying from the ceiling.
ben's little legs zooming as fast as they can carry him around the corner to the lego table.
nine little babies bouncing and bopping and swaying to music.
the feeling of little arms wrapped around my legs.
aidens little grin every time he was caught climbing on something.
the triumphant look when they throw a tissue in the garbage can, put their book away, or stab pasta with a fork.
elena running to my side when i'm preparing lunch, opening her mouth expectantly, then disappearing as quickly as she appeared with her stolen piece of cantaloupe.
zara's old man snores.
the roar of applause after each verse of wheels on the bus.
the look of giddy anticipation as the last little piggy wee wees all the way home.
my lap is public territory when i sit on the ground.  the closest babe will approach, back up, and plop down until i stand up.
slathering sunscreen on roly poly legs.
bulky winter coats and waddling toddlers.
jack's little man voice.  watching him spend so much time putting two legos together and pulling them apart.
my name isn't stephanie. it's sephy.
nine little helpers wiping windows and table and shelves and walls with paper towels.
the feeling of being able to calm and comfort a baby in distress.
singing our way through thunder and lightening.
the excitement over bugs and dandelions and airplanes and school buses.
teetering first steps.  first words.  witnessing miracles every day.

things i learned in preschool

three years ago i was desperate.  to feel at home.  to know my purpose.  to find a job.  to love my life.  i felt uprooted and plopped into a city of cement, and suits, and strangers.  i was relieved when preschool presented itself.  not that i'd ever dreamt of teaching, but it was a temporary remedy to one of the voids i was scrambling to fill.  i had control over something.  i had somewhere to be and something to do and nine little someones to help.  preschool was the worst and the best thing for me.  i felt battered and stretched and tangled into a million knots.  i would come home stiff and sore, not sure how i would possibly make it through another day.  when the bruises healed i found myself stronger, more flexible, and keenly adept at navigating through my untangled innerworkings.   another day followed another day, and the sickening anguish turned to tearful resistance, which turned to numb familiarity, which turned to quiet acceptance.

after my first year, i got a classroom of my own.  it was a relief becasue it moved me down the hall and out from under the claws of my nemisis.  i swapped babies for toddlers, one set of challenges for another, and the deep blue i'd been wearing (which looks aweful on me), for a lighter shade like turquose or teel.  september, with it's meltdowns and worry and room full of unaquanted occupants, settled into december.  suddenly a strange land turned into a cozy classroom, familiar and safe, with growing wee ones who traded cots for cribs, bottles for sippy cups, and rattles for blocks and climbers.  december melted into april and we were a busy little family, spending our days together at our home away from home.  when june blossomed, september felt like a bad dream you can barely remember in the morning.

i see them grow up right in front of me, and then it's time to say goodbye.  i watch them go to their next classroom, with their words and talents and interests and preferences and personalities, and i cry and miss them and think about them.  not because i have to, or because it's my job.  the little brutes i dreaded in september have become my nine wee ones.  we have grown together.  they have taught me great things and i love them for it.

then september rears it's ugly head and i cry for very different reasons :)  but this time around i know what's waiting for me in june.

friday was my last day of preschool.

i woke up one morning months ago and made the decision to listen to my heart and tell my director that this would be my last year.  when august rolls around it's difficult to remember why i cried so much in september.  the hours are filled with happy moments and busy bodies. comfortable routines, fun activities, and growing abilities carry us through each day, and the weeks seem to rush by instead of drag along.

my distaste for preschool, the dark days and tearful moments, were the manifestations of impatience with the Lord's timing, a frustration with my lack of direction, and the whirlwind of high strung teachers, grumpy parents, overwhelming responsibility, and classroom catastrophies that seemed to blow me off course or make me dizzy.  the nine little ones, that always became my nine little ones, kept my feet firmly planted on the ground.

preschool has taught me that:

i am full of surprises.  i can do hard things.  attitude is everything.
the Lord may not take burdens away, but He can make them easier to bear.
a situation is only made stressful when you stress about it.
you see what you look for - the good the bad the ugly the silver lining.
something is being said in every action - listen with your eyes and ears and heart and mind.
children are capable of greater things then we realize.  give them a chance to surprise you.
never do for a child what they can do for themselves.
if you want children to be kind and loving (... fill in the blank), then be kind and loving.
we are lifelong learners.  never lose your curiosity.
children learn through play, and thrive when there is structure and consistency.
open. ended. toys.
if at first you don't succeed, try and try and try and try again.
children are people.  they are not beneath you.  they need love and respect and encouragement and time.
i know very little about child development.

who are you?

introductions are funny in d.c.  after giving and receiving names the next question to come your way is inevitably related to what you do, not for fun, not on a rainy day, not to achieve your goals, not when you wake up on the wrong side of the bed, not to make someone's dreams come true, not to achieve a delicious pumpkin pie.  they want to know what you do ... for a living.  oh hi stephanie, it's nice to meet you.  so, what do you do?  as soon as i tell them i teach preschool they smile weakly and either say, how nice, or that must be fun.  and that's where i lose them.  there is nothing more to talk about, becasue in d.c, that's what matters.  that's who you are.  you are an analyst, a lawyer, a student, a mysterous special ops i can't tell you because i'd have to kill you person.  it's the same with majors in college.  what's your major?  child development huh?  the mommy major. that's cool.  see ya.   it drives me bonkers.  what's worse?  i find myself asking the same ugly question.  as if that's all there is to you or me.  if people think the extent of who i am is a preschool teacher, how sad.  and i'm sure you're hilarious, adventurous, romantic, a lover of warm oatmeal cookies, a master of your green thumb, inquisitive, a daughter, a son, a friend, a little crazy.  there's so much to me, and there's so much to you.  i want to make a conscious effort to see you for who you are, what you love, and how you live, instead of what you do for eight hours a day (or ten to fifteen if you live in this crazy place).

“Sometimes the most important thing in a whole day is the rest we take between two deep breaths.” ― Etty Hillesum

okay, let's all just take a deep breath together.  that was fun.  i feel closer to you already.  it's only tuesday, and if you think the only good thing about a tuesday is that it's not a monday well then you're in luck because it's almost wednesday and who doesn't love a wednesday!?  wednesday is halfway day, but let's not get ahead of ourselves because it's still tuesday people.  let's just focus on our nice ... deep ... breaths and the fact that it's not monday.  in fact, let's talk about all the other wonderful things about this tuesday.  they are few, but deserve proper recognition just the same don't you think?  lets do this.

today i used my polka dot umbrella.  i talked myself out of running because it's raining and now have more time to eat left over easter candy.  another hilarious love letter from my dreamy far away husband.  my little guy who likes to chomp on other little guys was absent today.  hallelujah.  hallelujah.  hallelujah.  finished one book and started another.  ravioli and roasted zucchini for dinner. berries for dessert.  moroni just outsmarted the enemy.  poor lamenintes, foiled again!  the colony that has created quite an establishment on my chin has finally gotten the message that they are so not welcome.  i've got bubbles and a clean bathtub.  L to the O to the S to the T.  my warm bed awaits, and is eager to say so long to tuesday and good morning to wednesday.

meal time

18 months worth of wisdom

today at 11:15 i was standing by the sink, chopping cantaloupe, when i caught a glimpse of eleanor rounding the corner, thumb in mouth, eyes on me.  i am accustomed to the eleven o'clock rush, as it's almost lunch time, we've just come in from the playground, and the busy babies have figured out that food isn't far away.  instead of kicking or tugging or demanding my attention with hungry shrieks, eleanor squeeeeezed her way between me and the counter, wrapped her arms around my leg, and nestled her rosy cheeks between my knees.  i felt her tiny feet on top of my shoes, and daydreamed about all of the places her curious, gentle nature might take her.  every so often i'd reach down to stroke her golden wisps and she'd look up at me with happy green eyes.  i countinued to chop and pour and measure and divvy up lunch among nine little plates and eleanor stood quietly, wrapped around my leg.  every day i try to tell the babies how much i love them.  and every so often, in their own way, they tell me too.

books vs. life

i had the best experiences at college. when i decided to study human development i had not intended on teaching preschool. i'm actually not sure what i intended. which probably isn't very responsible. simply put, i found it fascinating. i marveled at prenatal development. drooled over language development. pondered and puzzled over psychosocial, biosocial, and cognitive development. i soaked it up. i learned how to learn. how to search and study. how to think. it was always interesting but never approachable. even in the thick of my course work i was never able to pinpoint an occupational area of interest.  hello! blazing red flag.  that is probably why graduation was so hard for me.  i was a student, and not a person working towards a career.  when i was not longer a student, i didn't know who i was anymore.  i didn't know where to go from there.  i should have been looking for a field of work instead of just a field of study. working in a preschool setting doesn't interest me, excite me, motivate me, or inspire me. it's the very application of the principles i studied and i find it tiresome and a little tedious.  that's unsettling to me.  preschool has challenged me to rethink my methods, to question theory, to apply the volumes of knowledge resting on my bookshelves, and to assimilate new, and often surprising lessons into my predetermined paradigms.  but the most significant thing i have learned at preschool is that you should enjoy what you do every day - wether that's rocking babies or pounding steel or grading papers or building rockets or writing books or delivering post or baking scones.  

predicament

these are the cold hard facts:

i must have a new job by september or my head will explode
i am unqualified for everything but what i'm doing

these are my feelings about the cold hard facts:

i should have gone to college to get a job, and not just an education.  i do not want to be a teacher. i know that doesn't make me a bad person, but if feels like it does.  i studied child development for crying out loud!  the biggest bad decision of my 26 years.  in my classroom i feel burnt out, unmotivated, and unhappy.  huge indicator that i shouldn't be allowed anywhere near a school or put in charge of molding young minds.  the clincher? i have no skill sets.  i have no training.  i feel useless. i don't want to flip burgers.  i don't want to sell things. i want to have a purpose. i want to be happy. why is my happiness contingent on my job?  because my job is what i'm doing with my life at the moment.  it would be proper and wise and beneficial to continue to work within my field.  i feel a pressure and a pull to do so.  but i'm not interested in working in my field.  at all.  and we've come full circle.  i've placed myself in a predicament.  i need to go back and shake 19 year old steph by the shoulders, tell her to figure out what she would love to do for nine hours a day, and stay as far away from the clark building as possible!  she'd probably square her shoulders and demand to know who i was. and if i told her the truth, i bet she would believe me, and probably listen to me.  because she's kind of weird like that.

vomitous minimus

dear twenty four hour stomach bug,

i know you have your eye on me.  you cornered sean at the metro and forced him home today.  that alone would make me your enemy.  but then you snuck up on sweet kailyn.  she's only 13 months old you vile wretch. what on earth did she do to you!?  i wondered if you were lurking around when she spit up her breakfast, but then she got sick during nap time and my speculations were confirmed.  that was enough to fill the room with your stench and churn my stomach.  i could feel you breathing down my neck.  she then proceeded to get sick while i was cuddling her back to sleep.  not just once, but three times.  and there i was, kneeling on the floor with a scared, sick little baby, completely surrounded by and covered in the fruits of your labor.  covered.  i'm sure you smile at the thought.  i could go on with the nasuating details, but i don't want to give you the satisfaction.  you almost had me then, but i've got news for you!  it's twenty four hours later and i'm feeling fine.

sincerely (not) yours,
stomach of steel

p.s. you make me sick (figuratively of course)

landon lets me pick his nose

if you've been within ten feet of a baby with a cold, you know how exquisitely rare that is. it is the season for crusty noses.  and i have nine little ones to keep clean.  i have tried reasoning, bartering, flattering.  none of it works.  i've promised to sneak them extra cheerios at the breakfast table, just for one solid wipe and the chance to rid them of the disgusting, sticky green mess that seems a permanent addition to their little faces.  no go.

on a successful bout i am able to get most of the goo but for a sticky streak across their cheek, and then they are gone.  you may think a bit of innocent goo is harmless.  you think i'm a little extreme.  but the reason dispelling the goo is so important is because of what that goo turns into.  you see, the sticky mess that drips from their little noses hardens eventually.  that wouldn't be so bad if it ended there.  but then it solidifies into this rock like substance that  scientists would do well to run tests on.  and this unidentifiable crustacean is near impossible to remove without some serious intervention.  intervention that babies should never have to endure.

by now the babies know what's coming when they see me approach them with a tissue in hand.  they glance back and forth from me to the tissue, they get a familiar look that says no way lady, they bolt in the opposite direction, and the chase ensues.  when i do catch them, there's a whole lot of squirming, thrashing, and/or crying involved.  all for a simple wipe!  you'd think i was pulling off a band-aid or something!  which is why landon is so peculiar.  he holds perfectly still and nonchalantly looks about the room as i dab, pick, scrub, and wipe at his nose.  i hug him and thank him and return him to his activity and he carries on like i was doing him a favor :)

let it snow. let it snow. let it snow.

hung paper snow flakes during nap time again.  mostly to see bright, curious eyes and little, chubby fingers point to the ceiling.  i love it when babies point to things.  and mine are all about it lately.  it's like pointing is the new patty cake.  it's so in right now.  so anyway, i hung snowflakes.  and somehow my own personal nightmare has transformed into a wonderland.  i kid you.  about nightmares.  not wonderlands.  it doesn't get any more magical than paper snowflakes swaying from the ceiling.  i am hoping for snow.   lots and lots of it.  not just buckets, but truck loads.  preferably just before christmas. and during. and after.  heck, i'd love to be snowed in all of january.  it's a horrible month.  nothing cool happens (besides my mum's birthday of course).

i hate parades

every year we have a halloween parade.  if you're three or older it's fantastic.  costumes, cake, attention.  splendid!  if you can't walk, if being stuffed into a costume is a bit overwhelming for you, if you don't even know what halloween is, if the parade is smack in the middle of nap time, it's about as fun as getting a toothbrush in your trick-or-treat bucket.  my poor, tired, over stimulated, grumpy babies.  i hope we haven't scarred them for life.

two truths and a lie

progress was made today

i am allergic to small children

a stephanie should never be without a sean

pessimism

my first week of school was miserable. the babies don't want to be there. i don't want to be there. and so the days consisted of one big melt down after another. as soon as we would recover from one bout, a fresh wave of hysteria would knock us over again. most of the time i felt like i was drowning, my throat burning, panic and anxiety pushing me into survival mode, working tirelessly just to keep my head above the water. when i step away for the day my prominent thought is that it's preschool, it's not like i'm defusing a bomb or doing heart surgery! and yet it's enough to tie a knot in my stomach and sink a lump in my throat. when i am in that room and responsible for nine unfamiliar, screaming babies who can't feed or sleep or sooth or distract or teach or entertain or clean or comfort themselves, it is enough to make me wish that such places never existed, and that i could be a million miles away spending my life doing something else. my heavy heart seems to pull the corners of my mouth down with it, and yet for nine miserable hours i have to be engaging, alert, responsive, patient and a whole lot of other things that are hard to muster when all i want to do is walk away. i feel like a fake. those sweet babies deserve someone who will love them with their whole heart, and mine isn't in it. it's very far away.

see yourself through someone else's eyes

as i was walking out of my classroom i bumped into a parent from last year's class. he asked of sean's job and i relayed how perfect it was and that he loved it. i included that it felt as if it fell right out of the sky and into his lap and continued on about it for longer than i should have. with a perplexed expression he stated, "you sound a little irritated about it." and then i bumbled on like a fool trying to wrap up the suddenly uncomfortable conversation. i was surprised by the annoyance that had bubbled to the surface and seeped into my tone. and i was even more abashed at his perception of something i didn't know existed. why would i not rejoice in sean's success and find joy in his happiness?!? for a few seconds i saw myself through this man's eyes, and i felt ugly and bitter and selfish. inwardly i have been brooding and basking in despair. i hate my job. i hate it every moment of every day. i hate that i have no idea what else i'd rather be doing. i hate that i have no dreams of my own so i spend nine miserable hours a day making sure sean's can come true. i hate that he gets to travel and see the world and i have to stay behind. and i realized that i was not fully rejoicing in his success because i am jealous. you can't get any uglier than that. i walked away from that conversation feeling very selfish and small. i have some changing to do.

back to work week

sean's job is not only wonderful, it is perfect for him. it's quite outrageous actually. he gets to dress up and look dapper all day. people pay him to learn about the middle east, to be informed, and to put on seminars. it's like college, but instead of shelling out horrifying amounts of money for tuition, he is getting paid! sean's associates are warm and funny and friendly, and he has a big window in his office that overlooks a boat harbor. there is even a cafeteria that makes delicious omelets. most of all, it makes him happy. we would have taken any offer that would afford a living, but to be blessed with such a job fills us with wonder and gratitude.

new year. new room. new babies.

welcome to my room. my new home away from home away from home. we have moved since your last visit. it's been a huge to-do. we are settling in as best we can. it doesn't quite feel like home yet. i hope that changes soon.

it's eerie

ana’s dad has a demanding presence and a critical eye. when he comes in the afternoon to pick up little ana he doesn’t just collect her things and leave. he stays for 45 minutes. and watches. everyday. as soon as he walks through the door i begin to feel an electric undercurrent of anxiety and pressure course through me, and something changes in the room. everyone under two becomes wild and everyone over 25 becomes edgy. i feel like i’m being judged and examined and evaluated every single day. sure he’s great and friendly and chummy with us, but underneath his smile i know there is skepticism, wariness, and doubt. yuck!

what kills me is that as soon as this guy shows up jack decides to have a full blown meltdown in the middle of the room, isaac runs over elena with the housekeeping shopping cart, aiden climbs up to the tallest shelf of the bookcase, and orion and ana collide with one another – ana needing an icepack to her forehead. what the heck! unable to be nine places at once, i dash to the nearest catastrophe and pray my other teachers will divide and conquer. just 30 seconds ago everyone was calm, everything under control!!

as soon as he and ana depart, jack decides he’s done with his tantrum, elana and isaac engage themselves happily with large legos, aiden sits down quietly with a book, and orion works on a puzzle. everyone chills out and everything goes back to normal.

it’s like the universe hates me … or finds my anxiety and humiliation incredibly amusing.