On Identity & Claiming Gifts

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A few months ago I attended a women’s conference here in New York City. The theme of the conference was hope. On Saturday, we had the opportunity to attend one of about 20 different breakout sessions offered. One title caught my eye. I wanted to go to it, but felt I didn’t really belong there. I was sure the other women attending would see right through me and label me an imposter immediately. As my eyes wandered to other session titles, I let fear drive my feet away from the room where women were gathering for the session I wanted to attend. Then the emcee walked back on the stage and grabbed the microphone.

“I just want to encourage you for a moment. What is the one session you are too scared to attend?” I froze as my eyes darted back to the scary title. “Would you consider going there today? Don’t let fear or embarrassment hold you back from where you should be.” I was certain she was talking directly to me. I gathered up some confidence, and turned around. My heart raced as I walked back in to the session titled “Hope as an Artist”.

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From One to Two

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“What was the hardest transition for you? Zero to one? One to two? Two to three?” This question was posed at a baby shower for my friend who was pregnant with her fifth child.

I was pregnant for the first time so I listened in eagerly, rubbing my 4-month baby bump and silently taking notes.

“Definitely from no kids to one kid,” she answered. “But maybe that’s just because my first was a difficult baby and she never slept.”

I braced myself for a tough transition five months down the road. And then Norah was born.

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Anticipating a Son

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Can I tell you a secret? I’m kind of scared to have a son. I always thought I would have two daughters. Obviously, there is no reason for this. It wasn’t even a longing, a hope, or a wish; although there is some comfort in being a “girl mom” that would bring a bit of familiarity to having two children of the same gender. Mostly though, it was just a thought that cemented itself more and more firmly in my mind over the past four years raising a daughter until I started to envision a future with two little girls in tow. I didn’t really believe that first ultrasound picture that clearly (at least to Brett – I still think all ultrasound pictures look like creepy aliens) showed that a boy was growing in my womb, not a girl as I had thought.

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Dear Teachers

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Dear Teachers,

I remember this time of year in the classroom. It’s the time of year when I drove to and from school in the dark. Every so often I would catch a glimpse of the sun either rising or setting, but that probably meant I was taking lots of work home in order to spend less time in the classroom. It’s the time of year when you know your students well enough to read their mood when they walk in the door in the morning and have a fairly good idea of why they are feeling that way.

This is that time of year when things are fairly silent in regards to you and what you do. At the beginning of the school year there are all kinds of pump up messages and “we’re so thankful we were placed in your class!” notes. At the end of the year there are the accolades and the teary hugs good-bye as you hear that you were the best teacher they ever had.

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Construction on Both Sides of the Window

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A school is being built outside our apartment window. Every morning at 7:00 an air horn signals to the construction workers that it’s time to get to work. The structure is slowly stealing our view of the Hudson River. At certain times of year we can stand in the corner of our living room and still see the sky painted pink, purple, orange and red as the sun dips lower over New Jersey, but for the most part, our view is now of silver beams and orange netting as the building climbs skyward.

 

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