Coming in for a landing. (aka They don't pay movers enough money...)

For the 5thtime in 8 years I have packed up all of my worldly possessions and moved.  If you add into THAT the FOUR times I have moved my entire classroom into a new room you get a grand total of... 9.  (Those of you who have any idea of what 30 years of teaching looks like, you’ll understand what moving an entire classroom might mean.) 

I have packed and moved NINE TIMES in the last 8 years. NINE TIMES!!! Frankly, it’s a miracle I’m not dead. (Or perhaps I HAVE died and this is heaven! That would explain so much.)

However, this time it’s a little different. No, this time it’s a LOT different.  This time I have moved my life (lock stock and barrel) into a home that I hope will be our home for many, many years to come.  I have officially moved into the home of the man who has shown me what love and mutual respect really mean. I have moved in with a man who loves me in spite of who I am and all my stumbles and fumbles. He celebrates my gifts and laughs at my, ahem, growth areas. We greet each day with a smile, and end each day with, well, even bigger smiles. 

When I began the task of packing up my life again, I was filled with a sense of peace that is hard to describe. Truthfully, I have been living with him here at the house for over two years now.  My cats are here, my clothes are here, my shoes and my heart are all already here.  And even though all that I needed to go about my day to day, week to week and month to month life were right here, all of the possessions that are so important to me were still sitting across town.  That was hard. 

I have been so very happy staying here, but I’ve always felt a bit incomplete.  Over the years I have been forced to pare down what I carry through this life, and that is freeing. (Scary, but freeing.)  I have kept only the things that truly carry meaning in my life.  The bedroom vanity that my mother used as a young girl, her name penciled on the inside of one of the drawers.  The antique cabinet that she painted at least eleven times over the course of my childhood.  I know that because my best friend and I refinished the cabinet five years ago and holy CRAP my mother loved to paint things.   I missed my cookbooks, the pictures of my family, my mother’s oil paintings and my father’s nautical treasures. I missed my old books and my scrapbooks, and a few other sentimental pieces of furniture that still have pieces of my heart attached to them. 

And now they’re here.   

While most of my life is now stored in a tiny portion of a 3400 square foot basement, some precious items are now peppered through the rest of the house that I officially call home.  The pieces of my heart that have been scattered across town are now coming together.  My heart is finally and miraculously healing.  

I thank The Powers That Be that the dust is settling, and that they have guided me to an amazing partner in this life.  I could not have ever imagined that I would be so happy.  

But as we all know too well, it’s best to live and love each moment of every day.  We must be thankful for TODAY, and rejoice in it.  This life is fleeting at best, and those Powers have a tricky way of reminding us how fragile life really is.  Frankly, I’m laying low so as not to attract their attention.  

(Closing the blinds…) 


And perhaps reason #1 NOT to retire. (aka It's a laugh a day, people. A hilarious laugh a day.)

I walked into the lunchroom today to pick up the kids after lunch and Mackenzie was standing in the line with her shorts (and undies) down around her ankles.  HER ANKLES. Yep, she was standing in line naked from the waist down.


She hastily reached down and yanked them up.  "What were you DOING?" I asked incredulously.

"Well... I forgot I didn't have pockets and somehow my pants went down.  It was an accident, " she added with a smile.

Oh good God in heaven.  I'm sure glad I don't have those kinds of accidents. 


The second sign that it's time to retire.

We were walking down the hall today on our way to the first grade classrooms.  There are 6 more days of school, and today was "moving up" day.  (That means the kids visit the classrooms of next year's grade and visit with the teachers.)

I was holding Max's hand as we walked down the hall, and he had something to say.  "Ms. Smythe, excuse me, but can I ask again if you have lotion at home?"

"What?" I said, as he was speaking very softly and I couldn't hear him over the ROAR of the 24 children that were following us in line.

He coughed, "Well, I was wondering if you had LOTION at your house."

"Wait," I said as I stopped walking and looked at him, "Are you asking me if I have HAND lotion at my house?  Are my hands rough?"

"Well, they ARE a little dry."

Oh sweet Jesus, he really IS gifted.