Memoir Monday: The Hudson

Many people think of NYC as mostly steel buildings, honking of the taxi cab horns, no greenery, and swarms of people.  But, when I think of NYC, I will always think of my last night there walking along the Hudson River. 

The wind rushed across the water and created an aquatic breeze.  The lights of the city danced on the water and seemed to twinkle knowingly at you as you gaze over the water.  Looking up and down the walkway were couples talking, laughing, and who knows what they were thinking.

As we continued to walk I was able to listen to all the rich history of the friend I had made the day before.  He described some of the events that had taken place along this stretch of walkway, like the landing of the plane that we all had seen on television a few years ago.  The George Washington Bridge was off in the distance lit up and it took my breathe away.  But more than that I loved listening to this person describe his love for the city of his childhood.

Ellis Island is located in NY. Years ago  my family years ago came there before trudging across the Appalachians, crossing the Mississippi, and staking their claim in Oklahoma.  Southerners always claim to be the friendliest in the land, but I will say this New Yorkers are honest, they will help out anyone, and they aren't fake.  (Which I love!) They tell it like is and expect you to do the same.  

NYC is a magical place.  It has Central Park, the Empire State Building, but more than that it's the people who live there who love their fair city.  Jokingly I had asked him if he was a tour guide in his spare time, but then he said, "It's civic pride."  Who wouldn't be proud of such a city with it's history.  NYC is so accepting of everyone. It doesn't matter who you are, you are welcome. 

The greatest parts of our lives are when we meet people who change them, even if it is briefly.  I firmly believe that people are brought into our lives for different purposes.  It is our responsibility to do with it what we will and hopefully grow from it.  That night led me to down a path I had been refusing  for different reasons. But, I don't want to live my life with regrets anymore. 

Memoir Monday-Back to School

Beginning of the school year. New clothes. Paper. Mechanical pencils versus Ticonderoga #2s. The excitement of a new era. The annual getting our clothes for school shopping day. All the colors of the 80s-purple was my favorite. I have to admit in my own future 5th grader eyes--I was stylin'. Long blonde hair. Tall. Purple slacks. Striped shirt with lilacs and lavenders. I had to wear it. Even though school was two days away. I had to show my friends next door. So I snuck out of the house and road my bike over to their house. Except there must have been a rock. Something that made me wreck my bike. Skinned up knees. And ruined my new clothes. Devastation. Utter embarrassment. Mom wouldn't buy me new slacks. Instead she covered the holes with patches. Now granted they were "cool" patches, but patches nonetheless. What will the 5th graders think now? Well, I guess it could be a conversation starter.

Memoir Monday~Night Wanderer

Inspired by my 5 year old
*****

When my brother and I were younger we were convinced our parents were having wild parties without us after we went to bed. We would quietly do as we were told and go to bed at 8:30 PM. Then meet in the hallway and sneak down to the den where my parents were enjoying what I now know to be the only quiet time of their day. We would giggle and then just before they would yell at us to go back to bed we would run. Oh, the thrill of doing something "naughty."

Now the roles are reversed. I am the parent "having the party" while my 5 year old gets out of bed millions of times. Last night as I was once again tucking her in bed I whispered, "I promise Mommy isn't having any fun without you!!"

Just quiet time.

Memoir Monday~Why Must You Use Your Ugly Voice?

More of a slice of life, but touched my day none-the-less. I have been co-teaching with a fellow colleague in our reading academy this summer. I am the specialist in the room instead of the core teacher. As a class we have been looking at words and recognizing text clues and reading with expression. Today I read the book "I Ain't Gonna Paint No More" by Karen Caltrow. We continued our discussion of the clues authors give us as readers as to how the text should sound when we read aloud. When I got to the second page and said, "YA AIN'T GONNA PAINT NO MORE" with much gusto and a child leaned over his desk and said to the teacher, "Why does Ms. Snow have to use her ugly teacher voice!!" Ahhh. Lesson learned. I haven't had the students all year and should have prefaced "sometimes I will be raising my voice when the author asks me to from the clues in the text." Needless to say I giggled the rest of the day.

Memoir Monday~Missing

"Barbara, I have been sneezing all morning. I am going to get my medicine," I explain to our building secretary as I sign out. "Bye!" I yell as I walk out the doors.

I go to the drugstore and my phone begins to ring. I hit the ignore button and pay for my prescription. As I continue to my car I call my mom back.

Instead of her usually perky hello she says, "Lynnelle, I can't find Emma. I have looked every where for her. There are several others canvassing the neighborhood..."

"I'm on my way!" I try to dial 9-1-1 while driving, but my hands shake so hard I can't hit the key pad correctly. My mind goes to the worst possible place. Kidnapped. Taken. Gone....

I park in my driveway, grab the house phone and the world seems to be spinning. It felt like I was in a movie. I was watching someone else's life. This couldn't be happening.

"9-1-1."

"My daughter is missing. She has Down syndrome. We can't find her."

I remember telling the operator what she was wearing. How tall she was. All the while looking around. I look down to see Gracie gripping my finger. A police car drives up. In the distance I hear "We found her." I drop to the ground. Another mother found her a block away--Emma was picking wild flowers. My heart stopped. She's safe. The sobs echo for all to hear. Emma gets out of the car. She walks up to the officer. "Hi, me Memma," she says as she reaches to shake his head. He checks her over and says, "Yes, we know who you are and we are glad you are safe." I say nothing, but hopefully the look on my face echos my thankfulness.

I didn't even ask the woman's name. I just hugged my daughter. I hope she knows what I owe her.

Over 2,000 children goes missing a day. Now, I wonder how many are found and how many must continuously feel the anguish I felt for 15 minutes. Heart wrenching.

Memoir Monday

Today my eldest daughter turns five. This means all day kindergarten, learning a new classroom, meeting a new teacher, and making new friends. I am astounded at how my life has changed since my little four pounder was born. This is her story.

Sobbing on the phone with the OB nurse assuring her I had been doing my kick counts until I took a nap. She hadn't moved in an hour. My husband was packing up his classroom and I was alone. Alone with my horrible thoughts. All of the what ifs that were pounding through my brain. "I think it would be best if you met the doctor at the hospital," she finally said.

I hung up and called my mother. I tired to explain to my mother what was happening, but to this day I am not sure she understood anything other than Emma hadn't moved even after I drank a Dr. Pepper. Within minutes she was at my door and we were on our way to the hospital. What seemed liked hours was only minutes, but needless to say I hadn't calmed down. Something was horribly wrong. When I arrived in OB they were waiting on me. Nurses scurrying me in to try and calm me down. "Honey, what can I do to help you calm down?"

"Her heartbeat," I replied, " I need to hear it." Swiftly and efficiently the nurse grabbed the monitor pulled up my shirt and we heard the swooshing of a baby's heartbeat. My sobs stopped and I climbed into the bed. I began to answer their questions and the doctor walked in. He wanted me to stay for an non stress test for the next few hours. This had begun to be my routine. I had non stress tests twice weekly for six weeks now.

Finally, my heart rate returned to normal. I tried to get comfortable. My mom turned on the TV and suddenly a rush of activity filled the room. They were putting me on oxygen and moving me on my side. Then I heard it, "Her heart rate dropped. We need an ultrasound." The machine was wheeled in and the tech began his measurements in silence. My how the silence was deafening. My brain kept wanting answers, but the only answer was silence. After 15 minutes, he left and a nurse came in and brightly said, "Hello, Ms. S! Let's get your IV started I hear we are having a baby today!!" My jaw dropped and I said, "Nope! Not me. My baby isn't due for six more weeks." Her face turned red and she left in a rush. My nurse who had held my hand through the last few hours came in and sat on the edge of the bed.

"Lynnelle, your baby needs be delivered. Your amniotic fluid is low and she is under stress."

I couldn't believe it. It was too early. She was too little. What is happening? I can't handle this. My mind reeling in different directions. She wheeled me to a new room and they started the pitocin to start the contractions. I didn't feel a thing, but after the third contraction Emma's heart rate dropped to 49. I was having this baby now. She wouldn't make it unless I had a c-section.

I was so scared. I was about to become a first time mommy and everything was not going according to plan. Little did I know that pretty much sums up motherhood. Emma came early. Emma softly cried while they wheeled her away from me to the NICU. Our lives were changing. I had 34 weeks to prepare for her birth and I wasn't ready. Now, I've had 5 years with her and I realize that I was ready. She is my joy. She is my strength. She is my love. She is my fighter. She is my daughter.

Memoir Monday

"When are we going to start our books?" C asked.

"As soon as everyone gets settled, " I state matter a factly. Goodness I wonder what the excitement is about. There isn't an assembly today. Why are they twittering about I wonder to myself. I begin to walk around the room and I hear small snippets of their conversations as they get the items for the day.

"Is it true? Do you think we will really do what the agenda says?" A asks another student. I turn to glance at the agenda to see if maybe in all the busyness of the morning I wrote something wrong.

The agenda clearly states-Wed. -Begin Nonfiction books, finish novel study and review Westward Movement. My mind realized that they are talking about their new writing project: nonfiction books on a topic they are an expert on.

"Good morning, class!" I said, "Are we ready to begin the day?"

"Only if we can start with our books," S said under his breath.

"Well why don't we get started in our Writer's Notebook, I say grinning from ear to ear. Too my surprise my students quickly did as was asked and waited expectantly to begin. Which is exactly what we did.

School has been so different this year. My room has been very diverse with ability levels and behavior issues, but one thing has remained constant. My students love to write. It still surprises me when someone asks how soon will Social Studies be over so we can write. It makes my day. My one goal this year has been to create confident writers. I believe it is accomplished.

Memoir Monday~My Motherhood~

Note to the reader: My class and I are working on our memoir unit. This is my first draft. We talked all about the different forms to memoir and our big goal is to show meaning through our mental pictures. The section that is a flashback about Emma's Diagnosis was from a small moment I wrote earlier in the year. I was really able to explain how difficult I thought this was to write with my students. When they saw my reaction while reading it I think they understood how much this means to me. We talked about the defining moments of our lives and how it has to be the right time to put them down on paper. Some moments are ready and some are not.

*******

My Motherhood

By: Lynnelle

Motherhood seems so easy when you watch from the outside. Each day I “take care” of kids, but I never expected my journey of motherhood to change me so much. At first, the desire to be a mom was so strong my heart would ache to the point I thought my eyes would dry from all the tears that fell, each time I found out another couple’s baby was on the way.

I remember the day I found out I was going to be a mom. Excitement does not begin to express the way I felt. I called everyone to tell about our baby that was to be born on July 4th. Little did I know that her arrival would rock our universe.

Throughout my teaching career I believe that my life has been touched in some way by my students. I also feel that it is important that all children receive the best in education. Many people believe that I only advocate for children because my own child has a disability—but this was a strong piece of heart long before my girls arrived. As a teacher it is my responsibility to speak for a child when he or she is unable to make their voice heard.

My life did change after having Emma. The moment I heard her feeble cry and “it’s a girl” my heart danced with joy. Then my heart actually seemed to stop after we received her medical diagnosis.

******

Dr. Saddiqui and his messengers entered my room quietly. He came over to me. “I’m sorry, but we believe your daughter has Down syndrome,” he stated. “We are performing genetic testing and will have the results by Friday,” he continued. As the entourage left the room my mind swarmed with many confusing, racing thoughts. This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening! Not my daughter! This only happens to other people! My silent room was filled with emotional chaos. Outside my room the buzzing of the nurses continued, while the doctor’s voice echoed in my ears. I kept replaying the scene: genetic testing, no eye contact from the doctor, and I knew he was right. Emma had Down syndrome. Tears flowed down my cheeks in furious streaks and my temper flared!

“There is nothing wrong with Emma! How can they even think that? I exploded. I could feel the protective instinct envelop my child even though I had only been a mother for 24 hours.
How can this be happening? How can I possibly wait 3 days to find out? What do I do? Well, I waited. I prayed. I visited my tiny baby. And I waited.

On Friday, the hospital social worker called and asked us to come up to the conference room. My heart was thumping in my chest as I walked into the elevator and then into the room. On the table sat a box of tissues. My heart sank. I gasped. My heart began to break into tiny pieces. My sobs could be heard own the hall.

“Shh…you don’t even know the results,” said the social worker.

I wanted to scream what!!! This is my child we’re talking about! Instead I quietly replied, “True, but I don’t believe the news is what we want to hear.” I pointed to the tissue box and sat down.
A rush of activity caught my attention. Dr. Saddiqui entered the room with an unfamiliar doctor. She was very animated and it was obvious she was talking about my daughter. She turned and smiled at us. Then it seemed the whole world came crashing down around me. While I tried to stop my sobs and tears, Dr. Moghadan tried to explain what it meant when she told us Emma had Mosaic Down syndrome. But, it seemed that someone had pressed the mute button. I could not speak; I could not hear her words. My mind was rushing with many different thoughts. Will she be “normal?” Will she fall in love? Will she walk or talk?

Dr. Moghadan’s words changed me. I was no longer a “new parent,” but a parent of a special needs child. Not only did her words change me, but they changed others. People went from saying, “Congratulations” to “I’m sorry,” as if someone had died. However, I learned a lot about my self that day. I would gladly sacrifice my life to prevent my child from being hurt.
For me motherhood isn’t about just being a mom. It is recognizing that we don’t know where our life journey will take us. If our path takes us on way that seems unexpected we must embrace it; learn from it.

*****

After Emma’s diagnosis I received the poem Welcome to Holland by Emily Perl Kingsley. It expressed in words I could not articulate about how my life changed.

Welcome To Holland

by Emily Perl Kingsley

©1987 by Emily Perl Kingsley

I am often asked to describe the experience of raising a child with disability - to try to help people who have not shared that unique experience to understand it, to imagine how it would feel. It's like this...... When you're going to have a baby, it's like planning a fabulous vacation trip - to Italy. You buy a bunch of guide books and make your wonderful plans. The Coliseum. The Michelangelo David. The gondolas in Venice. You may learn some handy phrases in Italian. It's all very exciting. After months of eager anticipation, the day finally arrives. You pack your bags and off you go. Several hours later, the plane lands. The stewardess comes in and says, "Welcome to Holland." "Holland?!?" you say. "What do you mean Holland?? I signed up for Italy! I'm supposed to be in Italy. All my life I've dreamed of going to Italy."

But there's been a change in the flight plan. They've landed in Holland and there you must stay. The important thing is that they haven't taken you to a horrible, disgusting, filthy place, full of pestilence, famine and disease. It's just a different place. So you must go out and buy new guide books. And you must learn a whole new language. And you will meet a whole new group of people you would never have met. It’s just a different place. It's slower-paced than Italy, less flashy than Italy. But after you've been there for a while and you catch your breath, you look around.... and you begin to notice that Holland has windmills....and Holland has tulips. Holland even has Rembrandts. But everyone you know is busy coming and going from Italy... and they're all bragging about what a wonderful time they had there. And for the rest of your life, you will say "Yes, that's where I was supposed to go. That's what I had planned."And the pain of that will never, ever, ever, ever go away...because the loss of that dream is a very very significant loss. But... if you spend your life mourning the fact that you didn't get to Italy, you may never be free to enjoy the very special, the very lovely things ... about Holland.

Now when I see tulips I am not just reminded of Spring and the rebirth of the flowers, trees and the smell of freshly cut grass, but the change to my life. My pace. My children’s pace. Don’t just endure hardships, but chose to grow.

As a mother and a teacher, my desire to impact others by helping them see the world and others in a different way burns deeply in my heart. I don’t know if my life story will change others, but hopefully the way I choose to treat others through my actions will plant a seed for other people to join me in my heart’s desire.

Memoir Monday~Grandmothers~

Everyday I am blessed to watch my mother as she takes care of my girls while I work. I am always in awe at her patience and I hope that they love their Nana as much as I loved my Granny.

One of the hardest things for me as a teenager was visiting my Grandmother in the nursing home while she suffered through the stages of Alzheimer's. The medical world is still looking for cures, but this was even before they had support groups and medications to help patients. They knew so little about this disease in the early nineties.

I dreaded walking into the home. The acrid smells. The moans of the patients. The little old lady who wheeled herself down the hallway as she cursed at those that passed. I couldn't understand how God could let this happen to people. How do you end up here? But, usually once we arrived into Granny's room she would be there. Her face would light up as we walked in to visit with her. I don't remember where my Mom was this day. I know she was there. Perhaps she was at the nursing station. My aunt and I walked in and she gave Grandma a kiss and asked how she was doing. I went to her bed to give her a hug and she jerked away. "Who are you?" She almost growled it to me.

"It's Lynnelle, your granddaugher," my aunt replied.

"No it's not. I want HER to get out!" My grandmother yelled.

I quickly left the room sobbing. It was so hard at 14 to understand what I know now as an adult. Even though she was not in her right mind and did not mean to hurt me it did hurt.

Now of course, I too have regrets. Regret that my stubbornness at 14 kept me from visiting as often as I should have. Regret that she didn't know her granddaughters on earth. Regret that she didn't watch me grow.

Grandmothers are special. I hope my girls treasure theirs.

Memoir

Today I introduced Memoir to my kids and it went great. We read two stories, The Relatives Came by Cynthia Rylant and What You Know First by Patricia Maclachlan. We talked about what is in our own notebooks. My students know what it is mine so together we looked through it and came up with 3 Life Themes. Then students looked into their notebooks and came up with their own themes. Tomorrow we are going to look at 3 different chapters of Knots on my Yo-Yo String by Jerry Spinelli. Our focus is to look at why people write memoir before we begin writing our own.

My 3 Themes that appear most often in my notebook are

1)My family-my daughters and days from my childhood
2)Remembering who I am-thoughts I have about myself and how I am growing
3)When my eldest daughter received the diagnosis-Mosaic Down syndrome

Memoir Monday~River Rafting

“Come on!” exclaimed Brandon. “You’re on vacation! You’ve got to do this!”

“It is fun, Lynnelle,” my mother commented.

“Okay! Let’s go!” I replied.

We changed into our swimsuits and loaded the raft into the bed of our truck. We were off! We unloaded at the dam and walked down the tiny trail to the loading area.

Brandon began to explain to me how to get into the raft when I just “gracefully” rolled in. He laughed and jumped into the raft.

The moment we arrived in the middle of the river I noticed the silence. It seemed almost deafening. As we continued the birds sang and locusts buzzed. I could hear the water rippling around the edges of the boat. Suddenly, I hear water rapidly moving over rocks. Our raft dips and cold water splashes over my side of the boat. Then the deafening silence returns.

Brandon and I were just enjoying the quiet and nature sounds, when we felt this heat as if an oven had suddenly turned on. I looked and I could see “wind” coming. Our raft whipped around as dust flew across the river. Then just as the heat suddenly arrived, it was gone. We were once again left with our thoughts and nature.

Memoir Monday~Solo Entrance

The sounds of the orchestra echoed in the church as Dr. Alexander moved his arms majestically. As he directed the orchestra and the choir, the sounds of Handel’s Messiah flowed in and out like waves on the ocean. It was time for the sopranos to make their grand entrance on “Gloria.” I opened my mouth, took a deep breath and sang the high G with all my might! Oh, no! I can’t believe I miscounted and came in 2 measures too early. As I looked around at the sea of sopranos, the horror on their faces was echoed on mine. I could feel the heat rise from the bottoms of my feet to the tip of my ears, but that didn’t compare to the icy stare of the conductor. I can’t believe I missed an entrance in front of these people. Hopefully, no one will notice.
After the performance, my friend Nathan came up to me and said with a wink, “Hey Lynnelle, nice solo!” I tried to laugh it off, but deep down I was dying of embarrassment of my not so grand moment.

Memoir Monday~The News

**This piece was written with my students and revised with them as we began our journey to "revising to be better writers" series.**

Dr. Saddiqui and his messengers entered my room quietly. He came over to me. “I’m sorry, but we believe your daughter has Down syndrome,” he stated. “We are performing genetic testing and will have the results by Friday,” he continued. As the entourage left the room my mind swarmed with many confusing, racing thoughts. This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening! Not my daughter! This only happens to other people! My silent room was filled with emotional chaos. Outside my room the buzzing of the nurses continued, while the doctor’s voice echoed in my ears. I kept replaying the scene: genetic testing, no eye contact from the doctor, and I knew he was right. Emma had Down syndrome. Tears flowed down my cheeks in furious streaks and my temper flared!

“There is nothing wrong with Emma! How can they even think that? I exploded. I could feel the protective instinct envelop my child even though I had only been a mother for 24 hours.

How can this be happening? How can I possibly wait 3 days to find out? What do I do? Well, I waited. I prayed. I visited my tiny baby. And I waited.

On Friday, the hospital social worker called and asked us to come up to the conference room. My heart was thumping in my chest as I walked into the elevator and then into the room. On the table sat a box of tissues. My heart sank. I gasped. My heart began to break into tiny pieces. My sobs could be heard own the hall.

“Shh…you don’t even know the results,” said the social worker.

I wanted to scream what!!! This is my child we’re talking about! Instead I quietly replied, “True, but I don’t believe the news is what we want to hear.” I pointed to the tissue box and sat down.

A rush of activity caught my attention. Dr. Saddiqui entered the room with an unfamiliar doctor. She was very animated and it was obvious she was talking about my daughter. She turned and smiled at us. Then it seemed the whole world came crashing down around me. While I tried to stop my sobs and tears, Dr. Moghadan tried to explain what it meant when she told us Emma had Mosaic Down syndrome. But, it seemed that someone had pressed the mute button. I could not speak; I could not hear her words. My mind was rushing with many different thoughts. Will she be “normal?” Will she fall in love? Will she walk or talk?

Dr. Moghadan’s words changed me. I was no longer a “new parent,” but a parent of a special needs child. Not only did her words change me, but they changed others. People went from saying, “Congratulations” to “I’m sorry,” as if someone had died.

However, I learned a lot about my self that day. I would gladly sacrifice my life to prevent my child from being hurt. Now four years later, I see and experience the love of my daughter~who does talk, who does walk, and “woves” me.

Memoir Monday~Water Logged

Saturday night ritual: bath, wash hair, curlers for Sunday, Hee-Haw, and Dukes of Hazzard. This night was just like any other Saturday night. Mom telling us to hurry up as she began the bath. The water shushing as it escapes into the tub.

"Come on, Lynnelle! Hurry up!" My mom yells as I come crashing through the door. I quickly grab a towel and wash cloth as she begins to turn the bath water off. Her hands grab the knobs, but the water continues to splash out. "What's happening?" I ask, "Did the faucet break?

"I don't know...hmmm..go get the wrench, " my mom says calmly. When I arrive back in the bathroom, my mom is no longer calm as the water is climbing higher and higher. As I watch the water climb, my mom taps me on the shoulder and tells me to run next door and get our neighbor. In my bathrobe, I run through the woods in my bare feet. I pound on the door hollering for Dewayne. "Please come quickly! Our tub is getting ready to overflow," I stutter. He grabbed his tools and ran to the waterline. He immediately shut it off. He was the man of the hour.

When I walked into the bathroom the water was skimming over the edge of the tub. He came in the house and fixed the faucet. And wouldn't you know it, I still had to wear those darned pink rollers that night for church the next day?

Memoir Monday~Christmas Treasure Hunt

Christmastime was my favorite time of year as a child. As this Christmas was different from previous due to the divorce, I began to think about Christmases past and I remembered my favorite-Scavenger Christmas

"WAKE UP!!!" I yelled as I rushed into my brother, Brandon's room. "It's Christmas!!! And it snowed!"

Brandon hopped out of bed instead of his usual moaning and groaning and we ran into the den where Mom and Dad were waiting. We ripped open the beautifully wrapped presents and giggles and smiles were all around. Ahhh, I thought...this was a great Christmas.

Brandon and I began to help clean up the sparkly trash when I noticed two small envelopes on the tree. "Hey what is this?" I asked. I ripped it open as Brandon gently opened his. "Your first task is to get ready for a trip outside. You are going on a treasure hunt--a Christmas Hunt," I read.

Brandon and I quickly went to the coat closet to bundle up and follow our next clue. We went all around our snowy acre of land looking for our Christmas Treasure. Finally, the last clue. "What? back inside?" I exclaimed. So, back inside we went to find...our brand new bikes!!

"All right!" Brandon yelled as he scrambled onto his new bike.

"Unbelievable!" I echoed with surprise.

Sparkly. New. Smell of leather. I could already feel the wind in my face, if only it wasn't a white Christmas.