I sit, perched up high above with a view that others would kill for. Corner view of the whole place, but that is not how I’m feeling. I’m isolated, lonely, and ignored. I’m tucked away, my leaves pushed inwards. For some reason, I’m so low and the tips of my arms are resting against the top of the cabinet. What are they doing placing me here? Don’t they know anything about nurturing and caring for others? The window is a tease. It is so close to me, yet no sunlight reaches me. I yearn for the warmth and energy and begin to shrivel. It starts in my arms and moves upwards. My color is beginning to look heavy and weigh down towards the earth. Why couldn’t I be placed in the hands of a green thumb? I would love the company of others with an open concept. I can see it already. Spot on the window sill looking out towards the street observing the beauty outdoors. Until then, I’ll hold on and do as much as I possibly can in this dark corner. I just hope I’m noticed and bring some brightness into this kitchen of theirs.
SOL Day 3: March 3rd
Growing up, I was a major tomboy. I loved playing outside in the dirt, was convinced that I could do anything the boys could do, and loved playing sports. This, of course, led to me being injured all of the time. It was never a family vacation until I got hurt, it was never a good soccer game unless I had multiple bruises, and my friends wouldn’t have had as many laughs at my expense as my silly and frequent injuries afforded them.
Surprisingly, throughout all of my injuries I have never broken a major bone or had a serious injury that requires rehabilitation. Foolishly, I was sharing this with a friend last night before my soccer game and I almost jinxed myself. Of course, there I was sprinting towards a man who stood at about 6ft 2in. and had no intention in slowing down. Next thing I know I’m in pain rolling around the turf, squirming like a snake. I ignore everyone around me and try to handle things on my own. I had multiple guys swarm around me trying to make sure everything was okay and calm me down, but I demanded that they stay back. After I had relaxed and took a solid 5 minutes of breathing, they continued to make sure I was okay. They insisted on moving my ankle every which way, offered me ice, and attempted to carry me. Over my dead body is what I thought. I’ve heard from most people that are around me on a daily basis that I’m “too nice” or “too sweet”, but in this specific moment I was anything but sweet. I whined like a teenager and insisted that I was FINE. I rolled my eyes every time they offered me something and I made every sarcastic remark I could. If there is one thing that still bothers me, it is when the boys don’t think I can ‘hang’ with them or keep up. After they forced me to sit out, I made the decision to let myself back on…only after the guy who collided with me asked, “Are you okay, sweetie?”.
Today was a little more difficult going up and down the stairs at work and I had to wear shoes that were a little bit loose, but I think I was being a bit too optimistic because now it’s beginning to swell. I guess it’s okay for me to admit that maybe I am a little injured and it does actually hurt. Just don’t tell the guys…
“Wait, why do you have that treasure chest?”
“Can I look inside it?”
“Where did you get that treasure chest?”
“Is that yours?”
“But why do you have it?”
All of these questions were asked within the first 5 minutes by the fifth graders from room 302. As they walked in, some spotted the treasure chest instantly. Once their eyes grasped onto it, they would not let it go.
My grandpa had given my brother a treasure chest when he was younger and being the annoying little sister that I was, I had to have one just like him. On my 11th birthday, my wish (or demand) was granted and my grandpa had given me my own special treasure chest. For the longest time, it held my most prized possessions and collectibles in it. I loved organizing the belongings and clasping it shut. I loved, and still continue to do so, the details on it that make it look like a real treasure chest. It was always placed somewhere in my bedroom.
Now, this special treasure chest sits on the window sill of my classroom. The truth is, I’m running out of space in my place and wanted to get rid of it. I couldn’t toss it away because it holds a special place in my heart, so I decided to store it at school. The students and I are still brainstorming on ideas of how we can use it, but until then it just rests on the sill. I love knowing that it will still be used and I love the fact that it has a mysterious element to it. Honestly, nothing is in it but it’s still fun to imagine 🙂
Lately, I’ve been trying to attend mass more often than I have been in the past couple of years. We decide to start our day off earlier than normal and try out the 9:00 am mass. I walk in and am greeted by two young children handing out programs. We exchange smiles and “good mornings”. On my way to our usual spot I shift around little ones taking one slow step at a time, I stop abruptly to let siblings run by, and I find myself cooing at babies held over shoulders.
The 9:00 am mass= kiddo mass. As I look around, it seems to be a popular choice among families with young children. It makes perfect sense. The whole time I am distracted by these children around me, but in a wonderful way. Every reading is done by a child, the gifts are gathered by a group of children, and donations are brought up by toddlers. Toddlers! A boy in his pjs running with a loaf of bread is just destined to make your Sunday a great one. The whole mass was organized by children and it made my heart so happy to see. I loved seeing the ownership these children had and how proud they were of their little community. The one thing that stuck with me the most was what I observed happening at the first pew.
A toddler girl, in her colorful tutu and big headband, kneeled on her mother’s lap. She sang to her mom, asked her mom questions, and demanded for more fruit snacks. The mother patiently responded to her daughter and gently placed her in the seat next to her. The toddler than leaped back onto her mother’s lap, throwing the poor mom backwards. She moved her head to the side to avoid the collision. The little girl then continued to poke and prod at her mother’s face. She touched her ears and shifted her whole body to the side to look inside her ear. She clasped her mom’s face between her hands to shove it backwards, you know, to get a good look inside her nostrils. She pet her mother’s curly hair and then touched her own. After each examination, she looked at her mom and asked a question in gibberish. Mom just replied with a reassuring nod and continued to be poked and thrown around by her two year old. As I’m watching this, my own mother sat next to me. I thought about the little girl and how mesmerized she was by her mother. She observed every little detail about her. I’m sure I did the same thing when I was able to roll onto my mother’s lap. Even when I’m not able to physically be in her lap to poke and prod at her physical features, I’ve grown by observing her. I’ve grown up asking her questions about life and seeking her advice. I’m thankful that she has let me poke and prod her life with open arms and that she has been patient with me because I’ve sure learned a lot from her.