Flourish and Flair

Today is my dad's birthday. And since he loved to laugh, I'm going to tell a funny story. Even better, I'm going to tell a story on myself which would only make him laugh harder...

Several years ago, my mom and dad decided to go on a gambling trip to Shreveport. And since it was my birthday, they offered to take me along with two of my friends, Heather and Courtney. I had never been gambling before, and I was beyond excited. You see, learning to gamble is like learning to walk in my family, and I was feeling about 27 years behind schedule. I spent days looking up hotels and casinos and studying the rules of games. (I'm a nerd; studying is what soothes my anxiety). 

As time grew nearer and my mother questioned more and more about where we'd like to stay, I threw up my hands one day in despair while sitting in the coaches' office. 

"I don't understand," I complained. "Everywhere I look I cannot find any hotels in Shreveport." 

"What do you mean? There are lots of hotels and casinos in Shreveport," replied Heather. 

"No. I type in 'hotels in Shreveport' and nothing comes up. The closest I can find is somewhere called Boss-ee-ay City." 

"I'm sorry. What?" 

And so, I said it again. "Boss-ee-ay City." Only I didn't just say it, I slowed it down and spoke really loudly as if I were speaking to someone mildly deaf or obviously foreign. 

BOSS-EEEE-AYYYYY CITYYYY. Just like that. 

Stifling laughter, Heather replied, "Do you mean Bossier City?" But she said it all slow and simple -- BOZYER -- as if she was speaking to a 2nd grader. An obviously foreign 2nd grader. 

Realizing my complete ineptitude and waste of four days of Google searches, I immediately hid my embarrassment with indignant outrage. Because the best defense is ALWAYS indignant outrage. And as both a perfectionist and an English teacher, I get especially embarrassed when I mess up words. 

So you can guess that I was at DEFCON 1 for outrage. 

"There's no Z in there! That's stupid."

"Why don't they just call it Shreveport? They should just call it Shreveport."

"I've never even been to Louisiana. How should I know what they call their dumb ol' towns?"

And, my personal favorite last grasp... etymology. 

"Well, Louisiana was founded by French people so I just assumed it was a very French pronunciation. Boss-ee-ay. Like it would end with a flourish. With some FLAIR." 

I have to hand it to Heather. Until that point she had held it together pretty well until that very moment. But listening to me rant about the flourish and flair of the French language (which I do not speak) sent her into convulsive fits of laughter that included tears and a near asthma attack. 

After a few moments/hours/days, I finally began to see the humor of the situation. And as I am always unable to resist the temptation of making someone laugh, I confided my language faux pas (and that one IS French with all kinds of flourish) to Courtney as we drove to Louisiana. As expected, I was rewarded with guffaws and snorts, but this time it was okay because I was laughing along.

***FLASH FORWARD*** to the elevator ride up to our rooms at our hotel, the Horseshoe Hotel and Casino. 

We have been friends for two decades now, and the strongest common thread in our friendship is the ability to hit each other with the perfect inside joke reference when the other least expects it. A humorous sucker punch if you will. A zing.

In fact, it's my favorite thing, and I consider myself a zinger ninja. So in the elevator, this is what happened. Courtney hit me with a mispronunciation allusion, my cheeks flamed red, and then we collapsed into laughter. Not being in on the joke, my mom immediately asked what it was we were going on about.

Against my better judgment, I let Court and Heather tell the story. My father just shook his head. My mother was incredulous. Even more, she was delighted. 

See, I come by my zinger stealth naturally. For the next two days, it was a nonstop barrage.

"Should we stay here at the Horsey-hoe (Horseshoe)? Or go on to the Isle of CaPRY (Capri)?"

"I heard they were winning big at Hair-RAWS (Harrah's)."

"I love LOUIS-EYE-ANNA. Let's tour it in our Chev-o-roll-lay coop-pay!"

They practically vomited fake French flourish and flair all over my bruised ego.

But every time they did it, there was my dad, chastising them to leave me alone. It wasn't funny. I learned my lesson. All my life, he'd been my protector -- my Daddy Dean -- and this was no different. Each time they pestered, he'd swat them away.

You're never too old to be a daddy's girl.

When we returned home to Fort Worth, my parents and I hauled in our luggage, and my dad took up his post on my couch with Pat Sajak babbling away on the television. Heather and Courtney had talked them into staying the night instead of going home so that they could match wits with my mother, a legendary Scrabble player. As we headed out the door to Heather's for dinner and Scrabble, I asked my dad one last time if he'd like to join us.

Eyes closed, just a hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth, and without missing a beat, he replied...

"No, I think I'll hang out here for a while. Watch some Wheel of For-too-NAY."

And as my mother cackled and my shoulders slumped, I remembered how good it feels to sit on a joke until just the right moment. And he hit me from the top rope... with flair.

Nope, you're never too old to be a daddy's girl. Or a well-deserved punchline.

Happy Birthday, Pops. Your girl misses you big.

Light

There have been several times these last few weeks where I wanted to be anywhere or do anything else but what I've been doing. Many times, I thought it would be easier to lose myself at the bottom of a bottle or crawl into bed and hide under the covers forever. Or just stop. Give up and say that this is beyond my control. Or run away. I dream at night about waking up on a quiet beach or a mountain cabin or a foreign country.

They seem like easy choices on the surface. But if there's anything I've learned in life, it's that "easy" doesn't always equal "better".

Looking back, it's easy to say that I'm ending this year in pain. It's easy to look at myself and find all of the things I hate about myself -- all those things I wish I could change. I'm overly-sensitive and stubbornly proud and terrified of failing. Yes, those are things easy to see about me.

But "easy" doesn't always equal "accurate" either.

I am sensitive. I joke often that when God gave out feelings, I got in line for thirds. It's a part of myself that I've always been ashamed of. It's been scolded by bosses as unprofessional and taken advantage of by others. My sensitivity was a target, a soft spot, a trigger.  All my life, I viewed my mother as the "tough" one. She was the one I was afraid to cry in front of and hid my hurt from. I wanted, more than anything, to shield myself as she could. What I've learned, however, in the last few years (and weeks especially) is that my sensitivity has led me. It guides me in the questions I ask, the battles I choose, the decisions I make. It gives me the understanding and patience to sit bedside and not look away. It reminds me how lucky I am to have had 39  years of my father's love -- so much more than far too many have had, and it gives me the ability to give him permission to leave us when he's ready.  More than anything, it gives my mother an example to follow. This woman -- this wonderful and strong woman -- who held her feelings and fear at bay all of her life to shield her from pain is now defenseless. She is uncomfortable and unsure in her own feelings, but she is not alone in them. I am grateful to have grown up in a family who, while they may not have loved my sensitive nature, never forced me to abandon it.

I am stubbornly proud. To a fault, many times. I detest asking for help and resist accepting it when given. I believe fervently in making my own way, owing nothing to anyone, and standing on my own.  That, to me, is a success. But it's not, really, because when I look at my life, who am I without those around me? From my family to colleagues to friends I see often and those I see rarely and even those I've never even officially met. My stubbornness leads to me being a better teacher and a better competitor, but it also makes me stick and stay. And my pride, well, it forces me to think of others before myself, and for that I'm grateful. I'm grateful to be in a place I can still want more for someone else than need for myself. I'm not alone, however, and even on the days that I do crawl into bed and hide away, I know that I will always have someone to seek me out, take my hand, and pull me back into the world -- whether I ask them to or not because I'm also surrounded by people just as stubborn as me.

It would be so easy to judge myself or this year by only the sadness I feel now, but that's not fair or accurate. This year, I was loved by many friends, traveled to wonderful cities, ate delicious food, drank, danced, and laughed a thousand times more than I cried. I saw my favorite team win a national championship, and I sat court side on their journey. I challenged myself, and I met the challenges of others. I grew. I changed. I reflected. I was knocked down. I kept getting back up.

Yes, things seem dark now. This will not be the last dark day I see, no matter my hopefulness for 2016. But without acknowledging the dark, I cannot see the value of my light.

And I am surrounded by so, so much light.

I wish you light and love and laughter this year, my friends.

Thursdays

Thursdays are my mother's favorite days. Thursdays are shuffling cards, homemade desserts, and good friends. Thursdays are a break from worry, from heartache, from pain.

On first appearance, they look innocent enough. Christmas sweaters, Santa earrings, coin purses. If you happened by, you might think them a book club or a prayer group, full of grandmothers and aunties, just waiting to pinch your cheeks.

You'd be wrong though. These are not your average grandmothers. These are my mother's people, and anyone my mother spends time with could never be anything but fun and fierce. If you've got nickels and quarters in your pocket, you're nothing but fresh meat.

The game is Rummy Dummy. At first glance, it seems simple enough: a game devised on the sequence and systematic playing of specific, pre-determined hands. Looking deeper, however, it becomes a gauntlet of seemingly impossible card combinations meant to do nothing but strand its victim while it bleeds you of all your silver change.

It's not an expensive game. It's just a quarter to join and a dime for every round you don't lay your cards down, but with each coin you drop in the bucket, your desire to quit is only tempered by the insatiable need to hear the jingle of all those coins in your pocket.

Any time I'm in town on a non-holiday Thursday (which is not often), I'm invited to the card game. I like it because it makes me feel grown-up. Contrary to popular belief, "grown-up" is not an age-thing; it's an acceptance thing. But always -- always -- there are pre-game reminders from my mother.

"You'll need to pack a lunch."
"You have to pay attention."
"Don't be on your phone, texting at the table."
"When you cut cards, leave the bottom."
"Don't be late."

I learned that last truth pretty quickly yesterday as one of the regulars showed up, late from a doctor's appointment, midway through the first hand. The penalty for showing up late? A dime in the pot, 55 points on your scorecard, and a second go-round on hand #1. That dime buys you nothing apparently.

As a lifelong careful observer of rules and devout follower of protocol, Thursdays with the girls always give me sweaty palms for at least half an hour.

While we played, I tried to stick up for one of my favorite ladies when the others were complaining about a well-played quick hand that ruined all of their plans.

"Don't be nice to her just because she's the oldest! No special treatment!" They chorused and crowed, and even she admitted, "It was kind of an ugly play... But I don't care."

"I should have known better," I thought to myself as I watched this 90+ year old woman flip a card across the table with such fierce grace that it'd put all those baseball bat flips to shame.

Over the course of three games, they complained and wheedled and poked at one another, but they also caught up on one another's lives and grandkids and holiday plans. They even cut loose a foul word or two (which only made me love them more). During lunch, they listened to my mom's update on my dad. They let her talk, they helped her cry, and they comforted her with fudge and homemade cookies and empathy that only wives and mothers and daughters who had journeyed this road can give. At the end of the day, they wrapped us in big hugs and whispered support.

I am so grateful for these women. My mother has always been private with her pain, yet they don't allow her to hide. And with each moment she shares, I see the trust she has in them -- a feat not easily accomplished. But more than just listening and comfort, they cut us no slack. They took our quarters and dimes without hesitation because that's what you do on a Thursday. And my mother would have it no other way.

I did manage to win a game, and I will tell you that I've never worked harder or been more proud of a handful of dimes and quarters. I put them back in my mother's coin purse for another Thursday with the girls. And it was money well-spent. 

(Just kidding. It was totally my mom's money to begin with. I'm not quite grown-up yet.)

My Love Language

Unless you just met me 5 minutes ago, you know that my friends are the world to me. They know everything about me, and I know everything about them. And such familiarity creates unexpected things sometimes. Like, basically, a list of words and phrases that are such long-running inside jokes that they've become a shorthand language designed for maximum sarcasm/laughter.

They never fail to make me A) understand instantly or 2) laugh. Although sometimes they can still make me angry/embarrassed (i.e. "Bossier City"). Others hit that "All of the Above" target.

If you've been here long enough, you've been taught about the "chimp grin". It's a classic.

And there are others, some of which I cannot define either because they're embarrassing or I've forgotten their origin. Maybe both.

But here's a very short glossary of my tribe. There are basically only a few categories.

Words/Phrases you want to avoid hearing:

Super -- adj. A word used to imply that I detest what you're doing/asking me to do and I'll do it, but I'm probably thinking violent thoughts about you the whole time. Often accompanied by a deep sigh and an eyeroll. The amount of anger can be easily determined by the length of the word when pronounced. Language of origin: Sarcasm.

I'm just sayin' -- adj. 1) A phrase usually uttered after a statement implying "you're a dumbass". 2) A phrase synonymous with "I told you so", but without the annoying dance. Language or origin: Old Irritation.

You just have no idea -- adj. A statement of warning: You don't want this. Whatever I've endured, you don't want any part of it because now I'm pissed. Language of Origin: Heather.

Well, what had happened was... -- int. An often-used term by my students in school but first initiated by an exceptionally nasally little girl. Therefore, when used properly for maximum laugh, one must close off one's nose and drop all the word endings. "Wha ha happen wassss..." Language of Origin: Lying. See also: Nichols Junior High.

office time -- n. A signal that you need to poop. Language of origin: Travis Wheeler, a man with no concern for co-worker's nasal passages. See also: turlet.

#3's -- n. I'll let you figure this one out. See also: shooting #3's, Doritos (now with Olestra) Language of Origin: unknown

sacred duty -- n. brutal honesty guised as an unchangeable personality trait. Language of Origin: LJ, Dr. Phil

A perfume a girl should never wear -- adj. Girrrrl, you sad. Get yourself together. See also: desperation. Language of Origin: I'd rather not say.

DeanaRant -- n. A word used to embody a long, uninterrupted rant from Deana about something that has really been bothering her for a long, long time and has gone unspoken until some sort of alcohol has been introduced. See also: verbal diarrhea.  Language of Origin: Drunken Outrage

Words/Phrases to signal an awkward moment:

Well, you just never know... -- interjection. An often used phrase in order to signal that the person you're speaking to has no idea how badly you want out of this conversation, but you know that you will not be spared. Language of origin: Porchese.

Well, there's... and there's... -- n. An often failed strategy which indicates that you know there are choices, but you cannot, for the life of you, remember/think of a single one. Best used with a serious, but confused, look upon your face.  Language of origin: Caribbean

Wanger. -- 1) n. A penis. See also: penutis (pen-OOH-tis)

WANGER! 2) int. An unexpected appearance of a penis, usually negative. Usually accompanied by a shocked/disgusted gasp and this face:

Language of Origin: Harvey Keitel's wanger in The Piano.

My, aren't the decorations festive! -- int. Code for: "We've simply got to get out of here." Language of Origin: Kentucky

Cedarfied -- adj. You're drunk and fell down into a cedar bush, or anywhere really. Language of origin: Ancient Porchese.

I had -- maybe -- six Oreos -- n. A denial of personal responsibility for where any food item might have gone. Language of Origin: You Know Who You Are

Deep Woods Off -- n. Something that can, but should not be, used as an air freshener in a time of emergency. Language of Origin: Shame

Is that a tune in your head? -- int. 1) A way to state outright imply that, perhaps, you're singing off key. 2) a quick way to get me to stop my unconscious, and possibly annoying, humming. Language of Origin: Sacred Duty

Mark the time -- int. The signalling that an awkward moment has arrived, and its supreme awkwardness has been noted. Usually accompanied by an eyebrow raise and a glance at your wrist (whether you are wearing a watch or not). Language of origin: Camp Carter

Chimp Grin -- n. The unattractive face you make when awkward meets excitement. Language of Origin: Johnston Girls

Words/Phrases that make us smile:

Porchtime -- n. A place to do and say all the things that are only for us and those we know best. See also: Beer Blind, Book Club, Rooftime, JoeT's. Language of origin: Love.

Thursdays

Every other Thursday night, I visit my girls. We find a restaurant in our beautiful city that none of us have visited. We settle at the table. We eat. We talk. We drink.  And we laugh. My God, we laugh.

Thursdays are my favorite days. I feel most alive, most myself, on Thursdays.

Because on Thursdays, I come home.

And Maybe We Danced a Little...

All my life, I watched my parents work. I can remember asking my dad what kind of job I should have, and he told me that he hoped that one day, I'd have a career, not just a job.

I loved that.

A career meant passion and love and excitement. I pictured myself as Mary Tyler Moore, dancing my way down the street, flinging open the door to my office, greeting my colleagues with a big smile and, perhaps, a laugh track for the day.

A job just meant work. And work doesn't sound very fun. Nobody dances at work. They shuffle. Nobody flings open the door at work unless they're stomping out, middle fingers raised high. Work is gray and dull and accented by the punching of a time clock.

I thought to myself, "Why the heck isn't everyone out there getting themselves a career?" (Snobbish italics, totally intended.)

***

I'm a teacher. It's what I do. I don't really know how to do anything else. I'm not sure if I'd want to do anything else. Sure, there are moments -- daydreams in the middle of chaos where I imagine life in a quiet cubicle, entering data, going to the bathroom anytime I dang well please.

But I'm a teacher. It's what I do. It is my career, and, yes, it is my WORK. It is my life's WORK. (Emphatic bolding and capitalization, totally intended.)

***

The first day in my school district, fifteen years ago, I introduced myself to a teacher from another school. Another school. She was gracious and kind and so very welcoming as I told her this was my very first teaching job. Until I mentioned what school had hired me.

"Oh. Well, you don't have to stay there forever," she advised. Her kind and sympathetic tone did little to cover her face which twisted up as if I had just plopped down a bucket of elephant dung on the table. At every training and meeting we attended until she retired, I made sure to greet her warmly with my very own best elephant dung face.

I never forgot that woman though, even after she retired, because, in a way, she never left. I saw her in every news story, in every public and private rebuke from our former superintendent(s), in every training where I felt my green shirt unwelcome. I saw her in the giant slideshow proclaiming us as UNACCEPTABLE as well as in the slight of the absent giant slide pointing out our recognition the very next year. I saw her in every gym my basketball and volleyball team entered, in every parent's face that registered only the color of my kids' skin and the decibel of their voices, in every bus driver or administrator that was "surprised" by my kids' manners and sportsmanship. I saw her face when kids and parents refused to be a part of us because of what they heard instead of what they knew.

And I saw her in every mistake we brought upon ourselves. Every gang fight. Every failing score. Every angry outburst. Every kid who gave up. Every teacher who gave up. Every decision we didn't follow through on. Believe me, I know and admit that, too often, we put our own panties on the front porch.

We were the underdog, and in the beginning, I did not mind. I have always loved the underdog because, in the movies, everyone cheers for and falls in love with the underdog. 

This is not so in real life. And, after a while, I did mind.

Making my mark 

***

Last Friday, we loaded up all of our students and staff -- every last one of them -- and took our crazy out in public to be a kickoff school for the Souper Bowl of Caring. The night before, I traded dozens of texts with my best life friends about this opportunity and how afraid I was of it going all wrong. Of all the possibilities of shame or bad behavior that could happen. Bad things can happen when you upset the balance of a single teenager. We had 800 teenagers. Away from school. With television cameras. 

I told them that I felt like 15 years of work was at stake.

But here's what else I was afraid of: it could all go right. It could all go right and nothing might change. My green shirt might still get a disapproving look from the cashier at the CVS near our school. Other teachers still might not want to listen because "what could they possibly know?" Kids and teachers and parents might still give up on us and on each other.

All night and all morning, my stomach flip-flopped from anxiety to excitement to nausea and back again. And as we rode over in that yellow school bus caravan, I wondered what Cranky Old Ms. Elephant Dung Face would say about that school getting picked to represent our district, our community, our region. I wondered what face she would make then.

As I watched our alternate curriculum kids wheel and walk out from the same tunnel that the varsity football players run from, that woman's face began to fade. 

As our platinum level scholars ran out behind them, her face began to fade.

As our sweet and generous cafeteria ladies and head custodian got their standing ovation, she faded.

As an NFL legend applauded our $1,500 check to a local shelter and food bank, and as kids received their awards, and as school board members and superintendent high-fived them, her face slipped away completely.

Drew Pearson, y'all.

And as my fellow teachers -- my Mustang family -- cheered and applauded and laughed, I realized that there is no career without a job, and there is no job without work. A lot of work. A big ol' pile of elephant dung kind of work some days. And in 15 years, I have shoveled my share.

Are we where we want to be? No.

Are we where we could be? No.

But are we where we were? No.

And, for the first time in a long time, the only faces that mattered were the faces right in front of me.

Our kids

So last Friday, walking into that gym, my teammates and I flung open that door and greeted everyone with a great big smile. And maybe -- just maybe -- we even danced a little.

My team teachers

Big Kid Stuff

Tomorrow morning, this little guy will head off to Kindergarten.

It sounds so cliche to say that it feels like yesterday that we were all at the hospital, awaiting his arrival into the world. But it does. Cliches may be tired, but that doesn't mean they're false. And it doesn't mean they don't make my heart ache just the tiniest bit.

The first time I became an aunt, I was 16, living 300 miles away. I missed all of this, and I didn't fully understand or appreciate what I was missing. The first words and first steps. The silly songs and scraped knees. The tiny hands around my fingers becoming bigger hands holding mine. Learning to tell a joke, ride a bike, write your name. I couldn't fathom how quickly Baby Stuff becomes Big Kid Stuff, and I couldn't imagine how much we'd miss that Baby Stuff again.

I didn't know how to be Aunt Deana back then, and I never really caught up. Even now, I sometimes feel that I'm just catching on. I'm thankful that I have friends who make me practice.

As I was driving home tonight, I found myself thinking about tomorrow morning. School will be starting for me as well, and even though it's the 15th first day as a teacher, I still get butterflies. Wondering how the day will go, worrying that I will forget something important, curious what my students will think. Seventh graders in my school come to me almost like Elliott will appear to his teacher: nervous but excited, curious but cautious, hopeful for a good day, a good week, a good year.

I would say that I'm worried, but I know my friend, Courtney has the market cornered on that, and rightfully so. But I am claiming "hopeful" for tomorrow as my wish for Ell is the same wish that I have for all of my students.

I hope:

• you are more excited than nervous.
• your dad packs your favorite lunch, maybe even with an extra dessert.
• you like who you are sitting with.
• you don't feel too lost.
• you are kind and others are kind to you.
• you make a friend.
• you make lots of friends.
• you (and your mom) have more smiles than tears.
• you learn a little something.
• your teacher makes you feel appreciated and welcome.
• you go home, bubbling with stories, ready for the next day.

But mostly, Ell, I hope you always know how loved you are -- bigger than the sky and deeper than the ocean -- today, tomorrow, and every day. I can't wait to hear all about this next big adventure.

Forty Reasons We Love Heather

Sometimes, there just aren't enough reasons to love others.

Sometimes, there isn't enough space, or enough words, to tell all the reasons that you do.

Today is our darling friend, Heather's, birthday. It's a big milestone birthday that I'm probably not allowed to tell you. Not because she feels old but rather I'm worried there's some sort of age limit on the acceptability of fart jokes. I hope not. Dinner conversations will never be as funny again.

So instead, I'm using this space to not only share my words about the wonder of Heather, but I'm also sharing the words of some other friends. And I shall reveal the FORTY reasons we all love her.

1. She likes fart jokes.

2. She cackles when she laughs really hard.

3. I love Heather's dry wit and kind heart. She is so very funny and giving. -- Debi Campbell

4. She is adventurous and has traveled the world.

5. The sarcasm. Oh, the sarcasm.

6. Heather will tackle any challenge without fear.

Okay. Maybe a little fear.

7. Heather was the first person that made me feel like part of a team at Nichols.  She made team meetings fun, and I loved that she was just this side of crazy. XLR8Rs 4 life, yo! -- Angela Kaker

8. She's a badass nerd.

9. Loyalty. If she's got your back, she's got your back. Always.

10. She's tough. As nails.

11. My first awkward moment with Heather was during a team potluck lunch.  I brought deviled eggs, with bacon. I had no idea she ate meat-free! She was gracious, even after she took a bite! oh how she loved our Brain Busters. I so appreciated her sensitive way she motivated or mentored all kids, but she sure had a special way to love on a student even at their hard-to-love moments. -- Annie Garza

12. She's a vegetarian who is cool enough to take you out for a steak dinner.

13. Heather can fix anything. I mean, I can fix anything with duct tape, but she can really, really fix it. Like, for real. -- Me

14. She weighs less when she's drunk. Honest. #Science

15. Heather is not intimidated by head lice, broken wells, or pee in a Gatorade bottle. If you're a teenage boy, and you've done something unbelievably stupid, she will own you.

16. I love that she was always unflappable. No matter what the kid did at camp or how much they were bleeding, Heather would stay calm and take care of the situation. I also love her ability to be a kid.... I think that is why the kids loved her so. -- Denis Cranford

 

17. One of only two adult that I know, in real life, that can rock some pigtails. With attitude.

18. Her generosity of time, money, and spirit. There is not an hour of the day you cannot call her. There is not a moment she will not be there.

19. Vegetarian or not, she will hunt down the big daddy rat in your shitty camp apartment and feed him to the snake living in the hall closet. Word.

20. She was always so much fun to be around. Her wit and charm were delightful. One of my favorite memories of her is when she was one of the back-up singers with Sally and me (the de la Vida singers), and we used rubber gloves to make our boobs bigger and we used small stones taped to the gloves to make nipples. Heather was game for anything, and we had so much fun. Heather, you are awesome!!! -- Nurse Barbara

21. Heather is apparently unafraid to have big ol' fake boobs with stony nipples.

22. I guarantee that Heather is laughing so hard she is wheezing and searching for her inhaler right now after 20 and 21.

23. She does not know the meaning of "that's a SIPPIN' shot".

24. One of my favorite Heather stories is when I went with the girls to her graduation in Abilene. It was my first introduction to "Blue Tattoo" (an intensely blue-colored schnapps). We did consume some adult beverages that weekend. It was my first experience of partying with people that could be my kids. There are so many wonderful memories of Heather and camp that are too numerous to mention, but I do clearly remember her 30th birthday party when I learned how much Heather loves PINK! Happy Birthday, precious girl. I love and miss you to pieces!!! -- Nurse Sally

25. Checking the after effects of Blue Tattoo is considered an experiment. #science

26. She is a rockstar teacher and coach. She spends hundreds and thousands of hours raising other people's children because she will love the unlovable. She will teach the unteachable. And she manages the unmanageable. 

27. She is one hell of a mentor.

28. I love Heather's ability to see the silver lining and do so with the most wicked, yet delightful, sense of humour.  -- Jamie Fletcher

29. Whenever I think of Heather, the first thing that comes to mind is her smile. You almost never see her not smiling! She is so encouraging and happy -- she brings light into any room she's in. -- Stephanie Shackelford

30. Heather, you are one of the most loving people I know. Not only are you loving, but you are real! And that is so hard to come by! To let you know just how awesome you are, I created a poem:

Oh Heather, oh Heather,

No matter what the weather

You are always real, 

probably the realest person ever

At Mt. Loma or Fossil Hill

Your friends are close like birds of a feather.

Marcus is so cool,

You're raising a trendsetter.

Happy Birthday to you,

stay awesome and cool

And your years will keep getting better and better.

Love, Jarrett

31. She's a fantastic mom. And she didn't let anything stop her from being a mom to someone who really needed her. They save each other every day. And it's amazing.

32. Heather, you are amazing. You have truly influenced me in the kind of teacher I am today. You have the kindest heart, and watching you raise Marcus really inspires me in my everyday life with my kids who need a hero. -- Katie Krambeer

33. I love that Heather because she is so loving and compassionate. She loves animals, special needs children and people in general. I've also always loved her passion for sports... especially soccer. One of my favorite memories of Heather is being able to joke around with her in ways you couldn't with most girls and seeing her face when someone says something that could be taken a few ways and watching her try to contain herself is priceless. I still have the post card she sent me. :) Heather is one of a kind and will always be special to me. -- Ryan Willey

34. She believes that a dirty mind is a terrible thing to waste.

35. She suffers no fools. And she does not mind telling you if you're acting like one.

This. This is the look you'll get, fools.

36. Heather is crunchy outer shell, soft gooey inside. She is secretly sentimental and delighted by the small things.

37. Heather is one of the smartest people that I know.  Yet she doesn't hold that over anyone's head -- unless they are truly stupid. She has no patience for stupid people. However, she has incredible patience with young children. Especially those that are difficult to deal with. I often turned over a challenging child, saying, "You're going to have to deal with him/her. I don't know what to do!" And she's pretty hilarious too. But most of all, I would say she's loyal, and I know that she always has my back. -- LJ

38. Heather is a firecracker! A tiny but mighty spirit with an engaging, devilish smile that instantly makes you want to join her team. Whether it's her sports team, department team, or team of friends -- she's spunky and vivacious, and forever branded in my NJH "Good Stuff" memory bank. -- Angela Stidham

39. She throws a mean set of dice. There's a one-eyed Pit Boss at the Horseshoe Casino and Hotel who can verify this.

40. Heather, you are steadfast. When the winds are wild, you anchor us. When seas are calm, you push us. You steer the ship. You fix the broken parts. You dive in when any of us go overboard. You are the sturdy life jacket, the whimsical umbrella in our cocktail, and the lighthouse guiding us home. 

--D, C, and L

Happy Birthday, Heather-Feather. We love you fiercely.

Three is a Magic Number

Three is a magic number. It always has been. It always will be.

Our Brooklyn Claire turns 3 today. And she's pretty magic.

In the tradition of 3rd birthdays, a series of haiku poems.

Hair bows and tutus

Pearls, curls, and rowdy, wild girls

This is Brooklyn Claire.

Sunshine and giggles

This is our ladybug wish

Mostly, you comply.

Fierce independence,

The world is too small, I fear

For the likes of you.

Who dares defy you?

Rain your fury upon them,

Little Pink Storm Cloud.

But when there is peace,

There are pouty lips, sweet sighs

The world rights itself.

Such a little girl

Standing in a sea of boys,

steering your own ship.

Blue eyes and big hopes

Guide you on your merry way

Let us come with you.

Today is special.

Three is a magic number,

Just like you, sweet girl.

Happy Birthday, Brooklyn. I hope today is all birthday cake, belly laughs, and beauty. I love you.

*Photo credits, as always, to the Mullaney and Hopkins families who, unlike me, always have their cameras and who cannot stop snapping photos of their gorgeous children, thank goodness.

Now and Then. Then and Now.

My friend, Courtney, has been my friend, Courtney, for 18 years now. Today, she has been my friend, Courtney, for half of her life. We've changed a little but not so much.

Then, we met in a parking lot. We met on a hayride. We met on a bridge. We met at our home away from home -- camp.

Now, we meet for margaritas, trashy tv, shared tears, and healing laughter. We meet when we can which is never often enough.

Then, we taught fishing and archery and how to paddle a canoe.

Now, I teach children to read and write. You teach them to speak. But we both know where the roots of our teaching reside -- Shannah's Lagoon.

Then, we organized cook-outs and all-camps and kitchen raids.

Now, we just try to organize ourselves.

Then, we rode in the backs of pickup trucks.

Now, well, now we still ride in the backs of pickup trucks.

Then, our friendship was built upon painted rocks, daisy chains, and campfire smoke.

Now, our friendship stands upon touchstone memories, new adventures, and half a life of inside jokes.

Then, we were young and stupid and idealistic.

Now, we are young at heart, a little bit wiser and gripping tight our idealism, still.

Then, we raised hundreds of campers to become pretty fantastic adults.

Now, you're raising a cabin of your own, teaching them to be kind and generous and to sing silly songs.

Then and now. Now and then.

Our lives have become a timeline, tied together and marked by celebration and sadness and all of the absurdities in between.

It is full of cold beer and warm sunsets, rocking chairs and porch swings.

It is guitar strums and off-key show tunes, sappy movies, snorts, swears, and aimless stories.

It is full of debate, forgiveness, long talks, and unconditional love.

Then, I thought we might be friends for a while.

Now, I realize how wrong I was. A lifetime won't be long enough.

I love you, my WoHeLo sister, my compass, my cheerleader, my best life friend.

Then, now, always.

Happy Birthday, Court.

Essential Knowledge

Here's what they don't teach you in education certification programs:

Tequila.

They don't teach you about tequila, and they should.  It's essential knowledge.

In fact, they should staple a margarita recipe to your teaching certificate because there will be days/weeks where you use both for equal amounts of time.

Stepping into the Spotlight

A teacher's job, by nature, is to help others shine.  Our job is to provide the spark, to fan the flame, but so rarely are we the fire.  And we are okay with that.  We are directors, choreographers, coaches.  We are not the stars.  We live in the background.  We are scenery.  We hold the cue cards while our work stands center stage.

But not tonight.  Tonight, one of us broke out into the spotlight.

I went to see my work brother, Greg, perform with his band, Center 313, at their sold-out concert tonight.

Greg is our award-winning choir director and whiffle ball expert by day, but not tonight. Tonight, he was a rock star.  Greg's faith has always been in the forefront of his life, and his band's intent is to spread God's message to all who will hear it.  I love this because I believe that anyone who follows his passion is leading a purposeful life.  I must admit, however, that there were moments that the message might have been lost on me because I just couldn't stop watching my friend living his dream.

But maybe that is the message I was supposed to hear -- to live unafraid, to live with joy, and to live with purpose.

His joy filled the room, and it shone brighter, and more beautifully, than any spotlight imaginable.

Well done, friend.  Well done, indeed.