The Silent Bystanders

Silent Bystanders. We all do it. We would all rather keep the peace, not draw attention, not make other people uncomfortable, even if we are uncomfortable, even when what we see disturbs us, is wrong. We observe, we think of acting, but most often we don't.

I was an innocent bystander...until I wasn't.

In September my husband and I attended a concert venue near our home with friends of ours. We were having a great time. Since turning forty, we have decided that these shows can only be attended by purchasing proper seats, in contrast to the lawn seats. The uncomfortable, lumpy and often muddy lawn, combined with the awkward younger kids drinking and making out makes us feel ancient and leaves an unpleasant grime not only on our bodies but our minds as well. So, we were "comfortable" in our over-priced seats, watching some great country music, which I love, and my husband tolerates every three or so years because he loves me. I was so happy, we were with good friends, and we had enjoyed an appropriate pre-concert dinner of wings and beer. It was a beautiful night, the stars were out, the weather was just cold enough to warrant my jeans and trench coat, but warm enough to dance and sing along without clasping hands in my pockets.

As we chimed in with the chorus lines and moved to the music, I observed the crowds around me, one of my favorite activities to do. I looked through the crowd and saw little signs of love and relationships around me. I watched couples who were comfortably in love; evident through tiny almost unnoticeable actions. The husband opens his wife's diet coke and drinks the first few sips because she doesn't like a full bottle. Or a woman who brings an extra large bag to carry her husband's sweater, knowing he will get cold. They have passed the passionate phase of their relationship when every new discovery of personality quirks are exciting. They have moved into the phase of comfort -- knowing and anticipating the small and "insignificant" characteristics of their partner.

I watched the sisters who came together knew every word to every song and brought along their daughters -- the spitting images of each other. A shared evening with two generations. Yeah, maybe the moms embarrassed their daughters a little with the dancing and singing out-loud, but they were there together, and in years to come they would remember their mothers and the evening they spent together.

The contrast of the seasoned couples and families enjoying the concert were the young couples, newly in love, still discovering each other. There was one couple in particular who moved me deeply. In fact, as I watched the tall young man in glasses, in his plaid flannel shirt, jeans just tight enough to be cute, but loose enough to show he didn't care how they looked with his clunky work boots, dance with his girl.

They weren't dancing the way I danced in college. You know the dance I am talking about...the white girl sway - rocking back and forth somewhat to the rhythm... no, this couple, they were swing dancing. Real dancing. They danced in the aisle; he spun her, she held him close. They kissed, the danced more, and more. In fact, I began thinking of a way that I could work a similar scene into the book I am writing. A raw love that is visible to anyone who catches a glimpse of them, a love that doesn't care who sees it. It was contagious. I held tightly onto Randy's arm, who was trying very hard to have fun. I whispered in his ear, "Remember what it was like to be in love like that? When you just can't stand to be apart, even just a few inches?" Randy silently handed me the bottle of water he'd grabbed for me when we walked in.

Another hour into the night this beautiful couple had transformed. He was so drunk that he couldn't stand straight. Her buzz had quickly evaporated as she tried to get him to sit down. But no, he wanted to dance. He was having a great time, even though by now he couldn't stand on his two feet. He tripped awkwardly, she caught his large bulk and tried for the tenth time to make him sit down in his chair. You could tell by her body language that she had done this before, she whispered soothing words into his ear; she pushed him at his waist to fold him into his seat. Each time she would get him into his chair she would cautiously sit down next to him, with her hand on his shoulder, whispering into his ear. Within a minute he would stand up and try to pull her out of her chair to dance, once again wobbling and teetering on his feet. He became more obstinate. He pushed her away. Now her body language told me she was afraid. I was no longer even aware of the concert, so distracted by this couple's deteriorating night, a routine which seemed too familiar to the young woman. I looked around; I saw that people were purposely looking away. They pretended that they couldn't see that he was losing control. They pretended that it wasn't their business. Their body language said, "Let them work it out."

As the evening progressed, and as he became more and more aggressive, I thought that someone would step in defense of her. Her friends perhaps, maybe one of the burly guys standing all around them. Eventually, he started using his fists to punch her on the hips; he camouflaged the action with what looked like holding her, but he was hitting her, over and over. She kept grabbing his hands and moving them away from her body, but he just kept at it.

Something inside me snapped. This is why women get abused; this is why things get out of control. No one says, "No! Enough!" No one sets boundaries, even when we know they have been crossed. God forbid that we make another person, no less a man, feel uncomfortable with our disapproval of his actions. I had enough. I would not stand by and watch him continue to abuse her. I leaned across the seat in front of me, and I wrapped my arms around her protectively, looking him straight in the eye, "Enough! Stop hurting her!" He was startled. She was startled.

He sat down, and she whispered to him, this time, he remained in his seat. A few minutes later, I whispered in her ear, "I'm sorry; I just couldn't stand by and watch him treat you like that." She waved me off in the uncomfortable and embarrassed way one does when attention is drawn to something that you don't want to discuss, the wave that means, "It's ok, I don't want to talk about it."

Around me, the tension in the air had changed. You could tell that I had voiced the opinion that we had all been feeling. What shocked me is that no one else stepped up and stopped what was obviously abusive and scary. Did I make an impact on her life? Did I force him to see clearly? I don't know, but I doubt it affected him at all. He was probably so drunk that he won't remember what happened. I hope that I at least gave her a moment to reflect on what he had done, that she understands that she should not tolerate abuse; that by allowing him to treat her like that, she is approving of his actions. How a couple can move from such loving behavior to such scary interactions is alarming, but it also shows us why couples stay together, despite the abuse. When things are good, they are wonderful, until they are not.

According to the Domestic Abuse Shelter, one in three women will be abused by someone at some point in their lives, and 4000 women will die of abuse from their partners each year. One in Three. One in Three. That is astounding. That means that not only do we stand by and watch, but we also let it happen to us, or someone we know intimately.

What if every time we witnessed abuse we said "no." What if every time someone made us feel small and insignificant, we said, "no?" It sounds so basic doesn't it, but in practice, it is far more challenging. That is why, at age 43 I interceded for the first time, and in a concert venue with at least twenty other people witnessing the same abuse I saw, only one person stood up to say, "Enough! No!"

If you have been abused, or know of a woman who is suffering abuse at the hands of her partner, offer her support. You can find organizations in Virginia in here, and nationally here.

Cherishing the Small Moments

When Sabrina was four months old, she had a well-visit that could only be scheduled during my working hours. I had returned to work at the Merchant & Gould, the patent and trademark law office where I worked as a Patent Specialist. The primary purpose of said job (as opposed to being a graduate student) was to help support my husband's pursuit of a law degree. I had returned to work two weeks early, after only ten weeks, because my boss called in a panic -- desperate to have me return to take over my files. After ten weeks "off" I thought I was ready to go back to work. I missed being productive and collaborating and socializing with my friends at work. My sweet and devoted mother, who -- with the wisdom which you can only gain from experience -- knew that my heart would break leaving my daughter at a daycare and became my primary caregiver for Sabrina - with the loving help from my in-laws, who cared for her once a week as well.

Not only did she take care of my precious baby, but each morning she appeared at my doorstep at seven in the morning and collected not only my child and my dirty laundry as well. I would appear on her doorstep nearly eleven hours later to pick up my sweet girl and the neatly folded laundry as well. On the first day of returning to work, I realized within the first two hours of work that I wasn't ready to go back to work, that I didn't miss my job, and that my colleagues were fine without me.

Unfortunately, as the primary breadwinner,  I had to work, we had bills to pay, and my husband had a year and a half more years of law school left. So, I did what so many other mothers do every day, I packed up my baby and all her accouterments and went to work. Each evening when my child was home, I cherished her. My mom would let her nap right before I arrived to pick her up so that she would be awake for me. My mom would avoid feeding her so that when I came to pick her up, I could nurse her, or as she grew older, feed her dinner. My mother knew, she remembered how quickly those days would pass. She supported me in my job because she knew I had no choice, but with her wisdom, she knew that being apart from my precious girl was tremendously difficult.

Sabrina and her childhood best friend, Sarah.

Back to that four-month well visit - I didn't even take the entire day because after maternity leave I had to save precious sick hours. I took the half-day off, it was a bright, sunny April day, and in the miracle of a mother's luck, it was a beautiful day. By early afternoon we were done with our doctor's visit and headed to Lake Calhoun to enjoy every extra moment of our stolen day together. We parked the car and I threw a blanket on the still-brown grass, and we laid in the sun together. I gazed at her, marveling at her amazing perfection, we played games, I tickled her and treasured every moment because I knew even then that these days were fleeting and would not last forever. That day is engraved in my memory as one of the most precious days of my life, a day when Sabrina and I connected on a level that only a mother and a child can. I always said that having a daughter was like having an extension of your body, and that day was a day in which that was the case, we didn't need words, we didn't need anyone else, together the two of us were in our little universe.

Today,  I said goodbye to my sweet baby girl, that same sweet extension of my body, at college. As most of my friends drop their children off twenty minutes, two hours, or even ten hours away, my daughter chose a college on the opposite coast from our home. As she makes a new home for herself in California, at Scripps College, I will have to rearrange my home and my heart to accommodate the hole that her absence leaves in our home and our lives,

Sabrina left the house in June, pursuing her dreams for the summer and working at a camp. Since then, I have begun a new career, and although I missed her, I was so busy with my new job and traveling that I was able to hide the fact that she is no longer a child in my home. This week, I met her in California to help her move into the next stage of her life, her first step away from childhood and into her adulthood. I arrived on Monday, and it was almost a strange reunion --  it took a few hours to come back to the place where she felt like an extension of myself. By that evening, we had toured her campus together, eaten a picnic dinner, and settled into our hotel room together. With her typical explosion of clothing and belongings, I was reminded of the fact that once upon a time, we did everything together. You see, after two years of working full-time, I became a full-time mother. My sweet Sabrina, Willem, Theo and I, we faced the world, a new home, and a new life together. In the years since that four-month well visit, we experienced a four-month bed-rest with Willem; we faced her diagnosis of Marfan Syndrome at four; we faced Theo's [false] diagnosis of polycystic kidney disease, a four-month bed rest with two surgeries, and we faced a move to Virginia. We weathered a separation and divorce from her father; we found Randy, her stepfather, and I watched her develop a loving and trusting relationship with him.


As the years progressed, my sweet girl became more complicated. Sabrina faced the challenges that so many adolescents face. She felt excluded and bullied. Her height made her feel separated from her friends, as did her exclusion from sports. She buried herself in her art -- and as a result, she became a recognized artist in our community, and her artwork sold, won and influenced others. Finally, she discovered swimming, and soon after that, weight loss. Which eventually this became an obsession, and eventually anorexia. Those anorexic days were the hardest we faced together: anger, frustration, hunger, pain, re-feeding, depression, anxiety - for all of us. We held each other, we cried, we struggled, we triumphed. That girl, she's strong as hell. She fought for her life, and she survived. I am proud to say, in the end she is stronger, both physically, and in her faith.

New York City - Sweet Sixteen

All these experiences and challenges brought us together. We encountered problems, and we overcame them together. Sabrina has been my child, my rock, my other me, and now she is becoming her own woman, with her very own and separate set of dreams and challenges, apart from mine.

What does it mean to raise a strong woman? It means giving her the strength and confidence to leave your side, to live her own life, to follow her own dreams, and to make her own path. When Sabrina and her step-mom first told me about Scripps, I hated the idea. Can you blame me? She had just struggled through the most dangerous affliction that girls in our society face. She had overcome it, but let's be real, no eating disorder is ever actually overcome. Why would I send my child across the continent? Why wouldn't I put her in a school nice and close, where I could helicopter over her weekly, if not daily?

Raising a strong woman means letting her follow her own dreams, and making her own path. I knew I didn't want her to move away. But when I had wanted to go to Virginia, I did, when I wanted children, I had them, when I wanted to change careers, I did. Raising a strong woman means letting her go. So, Scripps it is.

During the last four days, I have come to see that my trust in Sabrina - and frankly her step-mother Valerie, was right. She is home. She has found her tribe. When I saw her walk through the campus, when she met her classmates, as I watched her purchase all her dorm room bedding and decorations, and she selected her school books and materials, I saw that she was happy, that this place empowered her. Raising a strong woman means letting go, trusting in them to make choices about their lives, and supporting them through their own challenges, failures, and successes.

Sabrina, as I hugged you, and as you walked away from me tonight, I felt closer to you than I ever have. I envy you your future, the power you have over who you will become and I will always support and love you.  I will treat our time together just as I did when I worked and our time was limited. I will cherish every moment we have together.

Cherishing Small Moments

When Sabrina was four months old, she had a well-visit that could only be scheduled during my working hours. I had returned to work at the Merchant & Gould, the patent and trademark law office where I worked as a Patent Specialist. The primary purpose of said job (as opposed to being a graduate student) was to help support my husband's pursuit of a law degree. I had returned to work two weeks early, after only ten weeks, because my boss called in a panic -- desperate to have me return to take over my files. After ten weeks "off" I thought I was ready to go back to work. I missed being productive and collaborating and socializing with my friends at work. My sweet and devoted mother, who -- with the wisdom which you can only gain from experience -- knew that my heart would break leaving my daughter at a daycare and became my primary caregiver for Sabrina - with the loving help from my in-laws, who cared for her once a week as well.

Not only did she take care of my precious baby, but each morning she appeared at my doorstep at seven in the morning and collected not only my child and my dirty laundry as well. I would appear on her doorstep nearly eleven hours later to pick up my sweet girl and the neatly folded laundry as well. On the first day of returning to work, I realized within the first two hours of work that I wasn't ready to go back to work, that I didn't miss my job, and that my colleagues were fine without me.

Unfortunately, as the primary breadwinner,  I had to work, we had bills to pay, and my husband had a year and a half more years of law school left. So, I did what so many other mothers do every day, I packed up my baby and all her accouterments and went to work. Each evening when my child was home, I cherished her. My mom would let her nap right before I arrived to pick her up so that she would be awake for me. My mom would avoid feeding her so that when I came to pick her up, I could nurse her, or as she grew older, feed her dinner. My mother knew, she remembered how quickly those days would pass. She supported me in my job because she knew I had no choice, but with her wisdom, she knew that being apart from my precious girl was tremendously difficult.

Sabrina and her childhood best friend, Sarah.

Back to that four-month well visit - I didn't even take the entire day because after maternity leave I had to save precious sick hours. I took the half-day off, it was a bright, sunny April day, and in the miracle of a mother's luck, it was a beautiful day. By early afternoon we were done with our doctor's visit and headed to Lake Calhoun to enjoy every extra moment of our stolen day together. We parked the car and I threw a blanket on the still-brown grass, and we laid in the sun together. I gazed at her, marveling at her amazing perfection, we played games, I tickled her and treasured every moment because I knew even then that these days were fleeting and would not last forever. That day is engraved in my memory as one of the most precious days of my life, a day when Sabrina and I connected on a level that only a mother and a child can. I always said that having a daughter was like having an extension of your body, and that day was a day in which that was the case, we didn't need words, we didn't need anyone else, together the two of us were in our little universe.

Today,  I said goodbye to my sweet baby girl, that same sweet extension of my body, at college. As most of my friends drop their children off twenty minutes, two hours, or even ten hours away, my daughter chose a college on the opposite coast from our home. As she makes a new home for herself in California, at Scripps College, I will have to rearrange my home and my heart to accommodate the hole that her absence leaves in our home and our lives,

Sabrina left the house in June, pursuing her dreams for the summer and working at a camp. Since then, I have begun a new career, and although I missed her, I was so busy with my new job and traveling that I was able to hide the fact that she is no longer a child in my home. This week, I met her in California to help her move into the next stage of her life, her first step away from childhood and into her adulthood. I arrived on Monday, and it was almost a strange reunion --  it took a few hours to come back to the place where she felt like an extension of myself. By that evening, we had toured her campus together, eaten a picnic dinner, and settled into our hotel room together. With her typical explosion of clothing and belongings, I was reminded of the fact that once upon a time, we did everything together. You see, after two years of working full-time, I became a full-time mother. My sweet Sabrina, Willem, Theo and I, we faced the world, a new home, and a new life together. In the years since that four-month well visit, we experienced a four-month bed-rest with Willem; we faced her diagnosis of Marfan Syndrome at four; we faced Theo's [false] diagnosis of polycystic kidney disease, a four-month bed rest with two surgeries, and we faced a move to Virginia. We weathered a separation and divorce from her father; we found Randy, her stepfather, and I watched her develop a loving and trusting relationship with him.


As the years progressed, my sweet girl became more complicated. Sabrina faced the challenges that so many adolescents face. She felt excluded and bullied. Her height made her feel separated from her friends, as did her exclusion from sports. She buried herself in her art -- and as a result, she became a recognized artist in our community, and her artwork sold, won and influenced others. Finally, she discovered swimming, and soon after that, weight loss. Which eventually this became an obsession, and eventually anorexia. Those anorexic days were the hardest we faced together: anger, frustration, hunger, pain, re-feeding, depression, anxiety - for all of us. We held each other, we cried, we struggled, we triumphed. That girl, she's strong as hell. She fought for her life, and she survived. I am proud to say, in the end she is stronger, both physically, and in her faith.

New York City - Sweet Sixteen

All these experiences and challenges brought us together. We encountered problems, and we overcame them together. Sabrina has been my child, my rock, my other me, and now she is becoming her own woman, with her very own and separate set of dreams and challenges, apart from mine.

What does it mean to raise a strong woman? It means giving her the strength and confidence to leave your side, to live her own life, to follow her own dreams, and to make her own path. When Sabrina and her step-mom first told me about Scripps, I hated the idea. Can you blame me? She had just struggled through the most dangerous affliction that girls in our society face. She had overcome it, but let's be real, no eating disorder is ever actually overcome. Why would I send my child across the continent? Why wouldn't I put her in a school nice and close, where I could helicopter over her weekly, if not daily?

Raising a strong woman means letting her follow her own dreams, and making her own path. I knew I didn't want her to move away. But when I had wanted to go to Virginia, I did, when I wanted children, I had them, when I wanted to change careers, I did. Raising a strong woman means letting her go. So, Scripps it is.

During the last four days, I have come to see that my trust in Sabrina - and frankly her step-mother Valerie, was right. She is home. She has found her tribe. When I saw her walk through the campus, when she met her classmates, as I watched her purchase all her dorm room bedding and decorations, and she selected her school books and materials, I saw that she was happy, that this place empowered her. Raising a strong woman means letting go, trusting in them to make choices about their lives, and supporting them through their own challenges, failures, and successes.

Sabrina, as I hugged you, and as you walked away from me tonight, I felt closer to you than I ever have. I envy you your future, the power you have over who you will become and I will always support and love you.  I will treat our time together just as I did when I worked and our time was limited. I will cherish every moment we have together.

Cherishing Small Moment

When Sabrina was four months old, she had a well-visit that could only be scheduled during my working hours. I had returned to work at the Merchant & Gould, the patent and trademark law office where I worked as a Patent Specialist. The primary purpose of said job (as opposed to being a graduate student) was to help support my husband's pursuit of a law degree. I had returned to work two weeks early, after only ten weeks, because my boss called in a panic -- desperate to have me return to take over my files. After ten weeks "off" I thought I was ready to go back to work. I missed being productive and collaborating and socializing with my friends at work. My sweet and devoted mother, who -- with the wisdom which you can only gain from experience -- knew that my heart would break leaving my daughter at a daycare and became my primary caregiver for Sabrina. My father-in-law and mother-in-law, Andrew and Barb also stepped in and helped watch her once a week - the best gift a grandparent can give is the gift of time and care.

Not only did my mom take care of my precious baby, but each morning she appeared at my doorstep at seven in the morning and collected not only my child and my dirty laundry as well. I would appear on her doorstep nearly eleven hours later to pick up my sweet girl and the neatly folded laundry as well. On the first day of returning to work, I realized within the first two hours of work that I wasn't ready to go back to work, that I didn't miss my job, and that my colleagues were fine without me.

Unfortunately, as the primary breadwinner,  I had to work, we had bills to pay, and my husband had a year and a half more years of law school left. So, I did what so many other mothers do every day, I packed up my baby and all her accouterments and went to work. Each evening when my child was home, I cherished her. My mom would let her nap right before I arrived to pick her up so that she would be awake for me. My mom would avoid feeding her so that when I came to pick her up, I could nurse her, or as she grew older, feed her dinner. My mother knew, she remembered how quickly those days would pass. She supported me in my job because she knew I had no choice, but with her wisdom, she knew that being apart from my precious girl was tremendously difficult.

Sabrina and her childhood best friend, Sarah.

Back to that four-month well visit - I didn't even take the entire day because after maternity leave I had to save precious sick hours. I took the half-day off, it was a bright, sunny April day, and in the miracle of a mother's luck, it was a beautiful day. By early afternoon we were done with our doctor's visit and headed to Lake Calhoun to enjoy every extra moment of our stolen day together. We parked the car and I threw a blanket on the still-brown grass, and we laid in the sun together. I gazed at her, marveling at her amazing perfection, we played games, I tickled her and treasured every moment because I knew even then that these days were fleeting and would not last forever. That day is engraved in my memory as one of the most precious days of my life, a day when Sabrina and I connected on a level that only a mother and a child can. I always said that having a daughter was like having an extension of your body, and that day was a day in which that was the case, we didn't need words, we didn't need anyone else, together the two of us were in our little universe.

Today,  I said goodbye to my sweet baby girl, that same sweet extension of my body, at college. As most of my friends drop their children off twenty minutes, two hours, or even ten hours away, my daughter chose a college on the opposite coast from our home. As she makes a new home for herself in California, at Scripps College, I will have to rearrange my home and my heart to accommodate the hole that her absence leaves in our home and our lives.

Sabrina left the house in June, pursuing her dreams for the summer and working at a camp. Since then, I have begun a new career, and although I missed her, I was so busy with my new job and traveling that I was able to hide the fact that she is no longer a child in my home. This week, I met her in California to help her move into the next stage of her life, her first step away from childhood and into her adulthood. I arrived on Monday, and it was almost a strange reunion --  it took a few hours to come back to the place where she felt like an extension of myself. By that evening, we had toured her campus together, eaten a picnic dinner, and settled into our hotel room together. With her typical explosion of clothing and belongings, I was reminded of the fact that once upon a time, we did everything together. You see, after two years of working full-time, I became a full-time mother. My sweet Sabrina, Willem, Theo and I, we faced the world, a new home, and a new life together. In the years since that four-month well visit, we experienced a four-month bed-rest with Willem; we faced her diagnosis of Marfan Syndrome at four; we faced Theo's [false] diagnosis of polycystic kidney disease, a four-month bed rest with two surgeries, and we faced a move to Virginia. We weathered a separation and divorce from her father; we found Randy, her stepfather, and I watched her develop a loving and trusting relationship with him.


As the years progressed, my sweet girl became more complicated. Sabrina faced the challenges that so many adolescents face. She felt excluded and bullied. Her height made her feel separated from her friends, as did her exclusion from sports. She buried herself in her art -- and as a result, she became a recognized artist in our community, and her artwork sold, won and influenced others. Finally, she discovered swimming, and soon after that, weight loss. Which eventually this became an obsession, and eventually anorexia. Those anorexic days were the hardest we faced together: anger, frustration, hunger, pain, re-feeding, depression, anxiety - for all of us. We held each other, we cried, we struggled, we triumphed. That girl, she's strong as hell. She fought for her life, and she survived. I am proud to say, in the end she is stronger, both physically, and in her faith.

New York City - Sweet Sixteen

All these experiences and challenges brought us together. We encountered problems, and we overcame them together. Sabrina has been my child, my rock, my other me, and now she is becoming her own woman, with her very own and separate set of dreams and challenges, apart from mine.

What does it mean to raise a strong woman? It means giving her the strength and confidence to leave your side, to live her own life, to follow her own dreams, and to make her own path. When Sabrina and her step-mom first told me about Scripps, I hated the idea. Can you blame me? She had just struggled through the most dangerous affliction that girls in our society face. She had overcome it, but let's be real, no eating disorder is ever actually overcome. Why would I send my child across the continent? Why wouldn't I put her in a school nice and close, where I could helicopter over her weekly, if not daily?

Raising a strong woman means letting her follow her own dreams, and making her own path. I knew I didn't want her to move away. But when I had wanted to go to Virginia, I did, when I wanted children, I had them, when I wanted to change careers, I did. Raising a strong woman means letting her go. So, Scripps it is.

During the last four days, I have come to see that my trust in Sabrina - and frankly her step-mother Valerie, was right. She is home. She has found her tribe. When I saw her walk through the campus, when she met her classmates, as I watched her purchase all her dorm room bedding and decorations, and she selected her school books and materials, I saw that she was happy, that this place empowered her. Raising a strong woman means letting go, trusting in them to make choices about their lives, and supporting them through their own challenges, failures, and successes.

Sabrina, as I hugged you, and as you walked away from me tonight, I felt closer to you than I ever have. I envy you your future, the power you have over who you will become and I will always support and love you.  I will treat our time together just as I did when I worked and our time was limited. I will cherish every moment we have together.

Humbled by Words

I have never been famous for my patience. Truly, you may think I must be patient to have taught two publications with 170 kids a year, and I am known for being laid-back. However, when I want something done, I want it done NOW. Ask my husband. A perfect example was my daughter's graduation party, despite the forecast of storms all weekend, I wanted an outdoor party. I didn't think my 90's outdoor furniture would suffice to make the proper impression (which was???) so I wanted new furniture. With college approaching, spending three-thousand dollars on new patio furniture was out of the question - so I found old furniture in my house and on craigslist, and for $20 plus $10 in paint, I repainted an entire outdoor set. In a weekend. Yep. A patient person would have painted each piece, waited a day, or at least several hours to let the paint dry properly. Not this girl. It has been a month, and I think the six layers of paint are FINALLY dry!

So it won't come as a surprise then that I was not patient in the writing process either. In fact, I wrote the majority of the book in the two months of summer break. It was great, I set a goal each day to write one-thousand words each day, and I kept to it strictly, there were days in which I wrote far more, and the book literally appeared before my eyes as if by someone else. It was an incredible experience.

Once it was done, I wanted it out there. I wanted to share it with the world, now. just like my deck furniture. I edited, and re-edited, I had my mother edit it, friends read it and a professional read it. I made their edits, and I was just ready to get it out there. Well, I learned a very important lesson, that when you think it is completely done, it isn't. You should give it to your OCD son, and have him read through it very slowly, and very carefully. Then he will point out all your errors - misplaced contractions, misused words, oh, and a typo on the back cover.

If you feel arrogant, you be schooled by an eighth-grader. It is so much fun. So, next time, Theo is reading my book carefully before the final print, and I am going to read it about ten times more -- once I think it is done.

The results are that the final edition (I might have had to revise it a few times) is actually pretty darn good. I look at it this way...if you were lucky enough to get one of the copies with errors, well, maybe someday it will be worth something, otherwise, maybe it will make you feel better about your own mistakes. In the meantime - lesson well learned. In the Chilling Wind will be a more polished book. Now, let me hurry and publish this so I can get my thousand words done!

A Teacher's Gift

During this last Teacher Appreciation Week, as a teacher, I began to get a little nostalgic. As it happens, it is also our last Open Mic Night @4410 in Haymarket as the Journalism Adviser for Inside 15000 and I am feeling sad to be leaving behind all that I have learned from my students. The irony is not lost on me. I have learned from more from the students I have taught in the seven years since I began teaching high school, and the two years as a pre-school teacher. In those nine years, I have been blessed by an unusually high number of incredible students. I can even say that each of those 1,120 students have been special to me in some way, and I remember them all.

A Teacher's Gift

The greatest gift is to teach

not because the lessons I create,

the standardized test that don’t reflect what I preach,

or the assignments, papers and projects that drown me,

but because of what the students have taught me.

Hunger for knowledge,

compassion for their peers.

Open eyes,

Ears,

Hearts.

They have have changed the course of my life

160 kids a year,

seven years,

one thousand, one hundred and twenty changes small and large

Ms. Peyton ~

－ my brother died,

－ my father left,

－ that hurts my feelings,

－ why can’t I learn,

why don’t I understand.

－ I’m struggling,

－ I’ve met somebody,

－ my heart is broken,

－ I GOT IN!!!

－ I PASSED!

－ I’m presidential candidate for 2036!

I’ve learned to ~

be strong,

work hard,

kids do care,

there’s always another side of the story,

the lesson taken my have nothing to do with what I’ve taught

how to say no.

To stand up for what I believe,

I’ve learned so much by being a teacher.

I’ll never forget,

One thousand, one hundred, and twenty amazing lives who’ve taught me

How to be free

Off to College

For Sabrina ~

Off to College

Her eyes are deep and dark as chocolate,

her hair is as soft as a peach’s fuzz,

her cheeks are as plump as a plum,

her scent is as sweet as honey.

Her voice the joyful resonance of chimes in the wind.

My daughter.

My joy.

My everything.

Small, plump hands,

dimpled and sticky,

pink pinafores,

Cinderella gloves,

she was my fairytale,

too good to be real.

Yet she grew,

and grew,

and grew.

Now I gaze into her eyes, wise and strong,

her hair is thick and long,

her cheeks are shadowed by strong bones.

She smells of paint and charcoal,

her voice is deep and resilient,

my daughter,

my joy,

my everything.

Long, beautiful artists’ hands,
with pastels and ink,
jeans, sweaters and heels,

no part fairytale.

Just a powerful woman,

headed into the world,

leaving me behind,

with a memories in my mind,

like a fairytale told over, and over.

My daughter.

My joy.

My everything.