Zach always used to say “You went to school to be a mom." I believed him until reality slapped me right across the face. Before Lincoln, I was arrogant. I had two teaching licenses and made it known. I had no tolerance for mommas that "didn't have time." I would send home visuals for bedtime routine in a student's backpack and they would "get lost." I would send an email about how to begin potty training and roll my eyes when I didn't receive an immediate appreciative reply. I would text, email, and call with reminders for an upcoming meeting, have mommas not show, and then gossip about their "lack of interest in their child's education" in the lounge. I hate to admit it, but I was arrogant. I thought (and expressed to others) that I was "better than." How incredibly wrong I was. How terribly, horribly wrong. I am now three years in as a momma. I am now the one in constant need of forgiveness, patience, reminders, and full-blown grace. From Lincoln, Zach, my coworkers, my extended family, my friends. I rarely use visuals that I so forcefully pushed on mommas, my nearly three-year-old refused to be potty trained 6 months ago and I still have yet to try again, and if I do not immediately update my calendar with appointments, we will not show up. Y'all, I "went to school to be a mom" and I am screwing it up everyday. But, God, the greatest teacher of all time, has taught me how to be an okay momma and, through that, a better teacher, friend, and wife. As an early intervention teacher, I now passionately "do life" with the mommas I serve. I share embarrassing "mom fails" with them, I get their advice on how to potty train, I ask the heavy questions, and I care more about their hearts than I do about the paperwork or timelines. As an "momma friend", I slow down and wait to be asked if my advice is wanted (or at least I try to). I invite them over on weeknights and we share meals that fill up our souls just as much as our stomachs. I desire to surround myself with Jesus-chasing mommas. They pour into my heart and I hope to pour into theirs. As a wife, I choose, each day, to give as much grace to Zach as I pray he will give to me. He has zero college credits in early childhood and still manages to blow me away with the joy he brings to Lincoln's heart. Lincoln has become his shadow, trailing him as they tinker in the garage, fix up the yard, and aimlessly wander around Home Depot and Zach has (nearly) endless patience through it all. As my own harshest critic, I have (very) recently started to own being an "okay" mom. I forget pull-ups when Lincoln has run out at daycare, I celebrate when the dentist office automatically schedules his 6 month cleaning, and I would rather walk across a floor of Legos than watch another episode of Paw Patrol. And all of that is okay. And even in the heavier moments, like when I am "big mad" and Lincoln reminds me to "take a breath" and "use kind words" or when I am missing my own momma. That is all okay. I am an okay momma, even a good momma some days. And I love (mostly) every moment. And that is okay too. So, mommas everywhere, can I give you a little advice? (See, I asked!!) Pour yourself a third cup of coffee and know this: You are perfectly loved by our Father and you were made to be called Momma. Happy Mommas Day! You are doing it, girl! Come over and have supper soon!
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First Grade Mrs. Christopherson provided a safe place to fall in love with learning. I can still recite the first paragraph of Junie B. Jones by memory. Play was important, our play was our work. In her kind and hopeful classroom, I was accepted. Fourth Grade Mr. Follmuth made it okay to laugh, to cry, to appreciate the beauty of all people and their stories. Ya Toast being played after finishing Where the Red Fern Grows allowed for a beautiful balance. In his humor and humility, I was accepted. Eighth Grade Mr. Wiedenheft saw potential, being the first to see that I was not just another passive learner, but a passionate teacher. In his encouragement and expectations, I was accepted. Tenth Grade Mrs. Stanton was as scary as she was inspirational. To Dedra, the guy I was dating or the relay record I had broken meant nothing if I refused to believe that I, too, could make a difference in the lives of others. In her daring determination, I was accepted. Junior & Senior Year at UNI Professor Donegan-Ritter imagined a future for me, a future as an early intervention teacher. She gave me a voice, a purpose. In her coursework and commitment, I was accepted. 2018-2021 The Early Childhood Special Education team of ISD 191 gave me my first three years of teaching. Each year I grew in confidence and passion. In their patience and guidance, I was accepted. 2021-Present STMA's early intervention program allows me to live my dream every day. As an early intervention teacher, I, along with a team of equally passionate gals, walk alongside families as they gain confidence in their ability to teach their little learners. In their courage and confidence, I was and I am accepted. June 2022 & Beyond I am a teacher, but for far longer, I have been a learner. In order to be a good teacher, an exceptional teacher, I must always be willing to be a learner. Beginning June 2022, I will, again, be a student. A graduate student studying Infant and Early Childhood Mental Health at the University of Minnesota. I was accepted. Because of Mrs. Christopherson, Mr. Follmuth, Mr. Wiedenheft, Mrs. Stanton, Dr. Donegan-Ritter, my ECSE gals, and many more, I was accepted. Pray for me while I accept the ridiculous notion that being a full-time student, teacher, mother, and wife is possible. This is going to be a busy couple of years, y'all. |
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