Light

As so many parents often are, I was on my own yesterday while Greg helped my dad with some things around his house.

In general, it wasn't a difficult day...except that we abandoned a cart full of things at Target because Will was yelling to the store what an awful mom I was for not letting him ride at the bottom.

And then when we got home, he whacked his little brother in the head with a plastic frying pan.

And after nap time, I had to call poison control because he decided to pour himself a rather large dose of Children's Tylenol.

(Not to worry--he was fine. And pain free for at least the rest of the day.)

My children are not any more trying than yours--that's just kids. And even though I often feel like the only mom screwing up on a daily basis, I have to believe I'm not alone.

But when both boys woke up from naps, I found myself completely exhausted.

I wanted to crawl into bed and sleep until Tuesday.

I wanted to rest my body, my mind, my heart.

Because even though you and I are so alike, "I" feel like I am screwing up.

All the time.

I feel darkness hanging over us as my hands raise in the air and I scream, "I don't know what I'm doing! Please send an instruction manual, or get me a guy named Tom in India who can tell me how to reset and reboot!" 

It can be overwhelming.

Is anyone out there with me?

So in the midst of putting ice on foreheads, and talking to Robert at Poison Control (he was no Indian Tom, but he did help), I passed by my bedroom.

And I saw this.

My crumpled bed, in my messy room, bathed in this sea of brightness, as if it were calling to me, "I'm here. You can rest. Be warm. Fill up with love. Recharge."

I didn't take up Her offer (because my bed is a she, duh).

But I did take the opportunity to reflect--in however brief a moment--that I am enough.

One deep breath in and one really, heavy, weight-releasing sigh out.

That even in my darkest moments of being a mom, I am my kids' light, and they are mine.

That they seek me to rest and soothe and recharge. And sometimes, although it isn't my bed, curling up with them and tousling their hair and reading a book is all it takes to do the same for me.

If only these moments came more frequently.

There will be days when I'll long to have them this small...and in those days, I'll feel rested.

Light.

Maybe.

Canada, eh?

For so many reasons, this trip to Quebec was the best trip I've ever taken with students.

There were no long flights, no money exchanges, no melted hair straighteners in voltage converters.

There was no homesickness, no whining about food, no lack of comforts, like ice in soda.

There were no boring tours of museums, no running around in the hallways at night, no lost passports.

But.

There was teamwork, as we tubed in teams of eight down snow covered mountains, and drove each other in dog sleds.

There was sharing, of hand warmers, chewing gum, wool socks, base layers, french fries, and candy.

So much candy.

Like, dentists are going to be so happy we came back. 

There was singing, at the tops of lungs, and in silly voices, to pop tunes that students didn't think their teachers knew the words to (but oh, I knew those words. I'm practically Nikki Minaj).

There was confidence and independence, starting with a very shy "Bonjour" and evolving to "Mrs. Kauffman, how do you say _____ in French? I want to ask myself." 

There was bonding among social hierarchies of students that would not generally interact within the walls of our school. 

Dare I say, there were new friendships formed. 

There was ice cream for breakfast and maple syrup for dinner. And dessert. And lunch. And maybe breakfast, too. 

There was laughing, at each other, with each other, and in the face of frigid temperatures.

And there was a moment...many moments...in which a random middle school French teacher from Cincinnati beamed and smiled and had that melty gushy feeling in her heart and soul that she had never been more sure in her life that this very thing is exactly what she was supposed to be doing.