Why my students write...

Here it is again. The annual event that began back in 2008. Why my students write. Every year they leave me breathless and so thankful that I have the job of teaching them. I like what I was inspired to write in year two: Why they write...is why I teach.

If you're interested:

Year ONE

Year TWO

Year THREE

And here is year FOUR:

I write because…

- it’s a way to express feelings without saying it out loud

- I want to be better at writing

- You can write what you feel without anyone judging you

- you can express yourself without people interrupting you.

- I can improve in writing if I practice

- my notebook will never judge me

- to tell things I don’t want to say out loud

- I can express my feelings

- I can tell secrets that no one will ever figure out

- it helps me make decisions

- I’m better at telling my feelings than showing them

- I’m bored

- I want someone to hear what I’m saying

- I secretly want someone to read it

- it clears my mind

- it opens my mind

- I learn things about myself

- my thoughts have meaning

- I can be heard

- I can’t be interrupted

- I’m busy

- I want to

- it’s easy

- I have something to say

- I’m good at it

- it is how I can communicate

- I feel shy and lonely

- it inspires me to do more things

- it makes me say stuff no one cares about but I do

- I can feel happy and sad or maybe both at the same time

- there’s only one voice that can be heard in the story

- no one else can have a say

- I have freedom to say what I want

- no one can change what I have down and say “that’s stupid”

- no one else feels the way I do

- it’s getting all the emotions out that I have inside

- no one can push me down

- it makes me feel strong

- I have my own say

- it makes me excited

- there’s things my parents will never know

- some words are too mean to be said out loud

- there’s too many thoughts to have in my head

- I get scared

- I feel like I get beaten down

- I hurt and writing makes it better

- no one sees the real me

- I can try to understand what I’m thinking

- Only I can tell people how I feel and when there’s no time to say it, then there must be time to read it

- One day I will show my mom how I feel and if it’s too hard to say maybe she will read it

- I don’t have the courage to say it

- there is no one to listen

- I have deeper feeling then what’s on the surface

- I can’t cry so I let my tears become the lead I engrave into the paper

- someday someone will find what I’ve written and will hear me

- I believe in myself if no one else does

- I want to explain myself

- I need room to air out my ideas

- I have a story inside of me

- I can’t keep track of my memories

- when I talk I hold back on what really needs to be said

- I hate being interrupted

- someday when someone finally reads this I can actually be heard

- because I’m lost and confused

- I’m afraid my words just aren’t enough

- I’m misunderstood

- I’m angry

- I want to make my dad proud

- it allows me to let out my emotions

- I don’t show emotion

- one day someone will understand

- no one tries to get to know me—they just make assumptions

- I may be different outside of school and I want to show teachers that

- it allows me to say what I need to say

- I am me

- people don’t give me a chance

- I need to say this stuff before going to the army

- I want to make my own choices instead of people telling me my choices

- I’m a jerk

- I want to be heard

- I get to speak my mind

- it brings me peace

- life is unfair

- my mother left me

- my father stayed

- I want to be remembered

- I want people to hear the real me

- it brings me clarity

- I can let others know they’re not alone in their troubles

- it gives me power

- I want to remember

- I’m not afraid to write

- my story has the right to be told

- writing is a joy

- of what I want to say

- it makes me stronger

- it makes me a better writer

- it takes whatever is on my mind, off of it

- it makes me feel free

- it makes me smarter

- I can bring anything I want to life

- all the pain feels better when I get it out of my system

- deep down I want to be a good writer and student but it never comes out the way I want and I want to get better

- I can express myself freely

- someday I won’t be who I am today and I might want to come find myself

- it is like breathing

- it is me, and I can make it my own

- it I’m falling I can give myself a paper ledge to cling to

- I never want to lose myself

- I’m lonely

- I love my nieces and nephews

- I want to be heard

- it is necessary

- if I’m pushed down I can use the notebook as a shield before I’m kicked

- I don’t know how not to

- not everyone can

- stories need to be told, even if there is no one to hear them

- there are things I can put on paper that I wouldn’t dare say out loud

- it sets off my imagination as if I were myself as a kid again

- it’s a good way to remember things

- on the inside I’m an emotional girl dying to let things out but knowing I’ve got to keep a tough exterior

- it takes my mind to a whole different place I never knew existed

- sometimes it’s like talking to myself

- my pencil and heart communicate writing things my brain can’t comprehend

- I choose who can see the writing and I’m not judged for it

- writing can’t be twisted around for rumors—it’s set in stone.

- I’m crazy and creative

- I let my true thoughts escape my brain and express myself

- I have nothing better to do

- maybe my writing will be valuable

- it leaves something of my personality behind when I’m dead and gone

- I’m smart

- I have too many thoughts I can’t say out loud but can’t keep in my head either

- there’s many choices to what, how, when, or why to write

- I’m my own person

- it blocks out everything and everyone

- I feel like I’m nothing and I want to know who I will become

- I’m scared of my thoughts

- I feel like there is nothing I can say that will help people understand me

- I just want my ugly, black hole to go away

- Most of the time I don’t say what I really thing, but what people want to hear

- I’m scared that if I tell everyone what I’m thinking they will cower away and run as if I’m a monster

- Now I can finally breathe just a little bit more

- I can escape the crazy emotions that never stop changing

- I can let go of the anger

- if I don’t nobody will every know who I am

- it makes me feel good

- there are so many things to be said

- nothing can stop me from doing it

- there are so many thoughts in my head

- I worry

- I’m a coward and can’t say my thoughts out loud

- what I write is worth writing

- I have an opinion and ideas

- My biggest fear is forgetting

- when I’m old I want to have reminders of what it felt like to be young

- maybe I can help someone else

- my emotions are ever changing and that frightens me

- I want to be heard instead of ignored

- I want to feel relaxed and let my thoughts flow

- it’s a good way to pass the time

- it’s fun to make stories about things that will never happen in our lives

- things don’t seem to come out right when I saw them

- I’m sad and it makes me happy

- it could be my last day

- I’m embarrassed to speak in front of people

- no one likes to listen to my feelings

- I don’t have enough breath to say everything I want to

- It’s like Autumn leaves falling out of the sky, the words just fall onto the paper

- it could change someone’s life

- I want people to know I’m more than just sports

- I feel like it helps me get through the pain

- I want others to not be afraid of writing

- it helps me calm down

- what I write might be famous someday

- it’s who I am

- so I can help people who need it

- I want to be a journalist

- it’s my way to relieve stress

- people make fun of me

- it’s hard to talk to my parents

- I’m left out

- I comprehend more when it’s written

- I’m a teenager

- I’m a kid

- I want someone to congratulate me for something good I’ve done

- I hope God will write back to tell me what I should do

- no matter how much I scream, no one screams back

- some people aren’t as fortunate

- my best friend loves to write and is amazing at it, but her dad doesn’t approve

- my handwriting sucks

- it’s fun to doodle

- I want to remember everything

- to show what I am capable of doing

- I do not want to remember what has happened to me, so I change the ending to make it happy

- I feel guilty about things I have done that were wrong

- I feel bad that I can’t help someone else be happy

- My boyfriend and I are fighting and I want to think about something happier

- I want my mom to just be proud of me for once, for something, and I don’t care what it is

- it puts my fantasies, imagination, and thoughts into words

- I don’t want to be the kid that gets yelled at

- I’m slightly neurotic and this keeps me sane

- when I write, sometimes I realize things about myself

- it’s so much fun to write

- tomorrow I may not be able to

- I like being creative

- it’s peaceful

- it helps the hurt go away

- it is a part of life that is with you all the time

- I have to; no person is forcing me to, but I have to

- without writing I would never be happy

- on paper, I am a totally different person

- I once read the quote, “Writing is a socially acceptable form of schizophrenia.”

- you don’t know me if you haven’t read everything I’ve written

- it is my escape from reality

- it is my escape from everyone else’s words

- my writing isn’t always pretty or pleasant, but neither am I

- you really want to know what I have to say, read my notebooks full of poems, song lyrics, and stories

- I love what I write about

- my life sometimes needs to be shared to make me feel important

- I have no one to talk to when I have problems

- it’s an escape route from reality and some of the bad things in life

- I think something important happens everyday

- I like to tell funny stories that have happened

- some days I have very nice handwriting and like to see it on paper

- the music makes me want to

- I can see a squirrel in the tree right now

I write…

- so that people will listen

- to give hope to those that are different

- to tell you this

- to influence not only myself, but others too

- to make it final; to make sure it stuck in this unfaithful world

- to help my mind ease even with all my problems and troubles floating around

- in hope that one day I would not disappoint someone

- to embrace others around me

- to get rid of my problems even if it’s just for a second, it’s a second my body and mind don’t take the load from all the past events that took place

- to not me like my mother yet become closer to my father

- to escape; to runaway from the world I know I’ll eventually have to face

- to discover myself, because when I’m on paper I find myself easier to read

- to tell about the past

- to make people laugh

- to make others remember what they had

- to prove myself; people don’t look inside to see the strength that I really have

- to show who I am; there is more to me than ‘the smart kid in the front row’

letters

So here is the deal: My last name starts with an I.* I love my last name. I love my husband. I love that my husband was willing to share it with me.

I love the look of decorating with letters. Having your family's namesake represented by a colorful C or a kicky K or a perfect P is fun.

But the letter I is SO BORING. Seriously. Most of the time it is just a straight line. Other times it is written in cursive to try and kick it up a notch, but it still fails miserably in being interesting. AND because of this, most stores fail to carry the letter I. The other day I was in my favorite store ever, Kohls, and they had some cute ornaments on sale. They were peppermint candy in the shape of letters. Nearly ever letter had 2 rows. I thought maybe one row of Js was supposed to be Is so I dug and dug. To no avail. They literally had every letter except for the letter I.

I can't say that I blame them though. It is a sad and depressing little letter.

Later that same day Brent and I were at Wal-Mart. We were in the checkout line and could see some monogrammed mugs lined up on a shelf. I pointed out to him that there was no letter I mug. He responded and said that one of them was turned around and that that one was probably an I. I got out of line, walked over to the mugs, and turned the backwards one around. An S. Go figure. Ss get all the glory.

I've had this conversation with my sister in law who married into the same I-trouble. She agrees that finding a good I is like finding the proverbial needle in the haystack. My friend, Micah, bought me an I from Anthropolgie when I got married. And it is actually cute [letters can be cute, trust me]. But it is orange and fuscia and how could that not be cute? I have searched high and low to find a low key version of this [because let's be honest, those colors don't go everywhere]...and nothing. nada. zip.

So next time you buy a letter for your wall, be glad your last name doesn't start with an I. Be glad that you have a letter that fills some space. Be glad that you have a letter that can be found in stores. Be glad that you have a letter that doesn't bore everyone to tears.

And if you ever happen to stumble across a funky and spirited I, please let this desperate home decorator know!!

*I try not to post my last name on the blog for security reasons.

Baby Bump: 19 weeks

dear baby,

you are moving and squirming so much this week! one night i asked your dad to put his hand on my belly because i knew for certain he'd be able to feel you… unfortunately you're just not strong enough for him to feel your little punches yet. next week?

we've thought a lot about names, and we're both a little shocked that we came to an agreement so early! so whether you're a boy or a girl [and we get to find out so soon…please cooperate for your first photo shoot next week, okay?], we have a great name lined up just for you and you alone. at least, we think it's a great name and we really hope you do too.

we've also been talking about your nursery some. geesh! there is just so much to think about, but i promise to have it all ready for your big debut. so stay in there until march, but know that i'll be ready…and will have lots of hugs and kisses for you too.

love, mom

***

We have our sonogram on THURSDAY. If everything goes well and the baby cooperates, we'll know the sex that day. When Brent proposed…and I promised I'll get to that part of OUR STORY soon…part of the evening included a gift. I opened the bag and pulled out two newborn outfits:

He then said, "I'm so glad that you'll be the mother of my children." Yeah…it's a really good story…bet you can't wait to hear the rest…but that is for another post entirely. Anyway, I pulled out these two outfits the other night and we both had a little moment when we realized one of our big dreams is coming to fruition. Five years later, we're very anxious to put our little bundle in one of these outfits. But which one will it be?! Five more days and then we will know! :-) I'll be sure to keep you all informed as well. [And interestingly enough, the vote has evened out to 50/50! If you haven't voted yet, your time is running out!]

it's what i do

When I got home from work today I had a few things to do online so I clicked over to facebook. Status after status, I read things like: "YAY! I don't have to go to work again for another 2 and 1/2 days!" or "FINALLY…the weekend."

Now, don't get me wrong, I thoroughly enjoy my weekends-- the time to sleep in, relax, wear sweats, catch up on cleaning and tv shows and time with Brent. But I don't ever DREAD going back to work on Monday. Even though I still view getting out of bed in the morning as THE WORST THING EVER [I know, I know..."You're gonna have to get over that in about 4.5 months..."], once I'm up and moving, I really don't ever mind going to work. I love seeing my students and interacting with them daily. I just realized too that I haven't written about teaching in awhile, but I used to all the time [click here and read away to see that I'm telling the truth!]. Well, despite my lack of writing about, I still am thoroughly loving it.

We are currently getting ready to start reading To Kill a Mockingbird in LA II, which just happens to be my FAVORITE BOOK EVER! So I'm really looking forward to teaching it again.

And my LA III kids are writing short stories, and although that leaves me with hours to grade, they are always a treat when I get to see the creativity of my students.

Three and a half years ago I was exhausted and wondering if I could really pull off being a teacher. I was living in a city in which I still knew almost no one, teaching an entire section of students with LD "hits" in reading and writing, completely the worst teaching internship program every created [which required FIFTY out of classroom hours and like 10 observations which required three meetings PER observation…ugh…still makes me mad], still figuring out marriage, and living hours and hours from "home." Every day I woke up I had to convince myself that things would get better and that I just needed to keep plodding on. I would say to myself, Kels, you love what you do. Everything is going to click soon. Don't kill your students today. And then I would pray, Lord, give me extra patience to get through today.

I knew that the overwhelming "stuff" would come, which is why I wrote myself a letter a few weeks before that first year started. I have often returned to this letter when I need a little reminder:

Dear Kelsey,

I am writing this so that you remember what it is like to be passionate about your job. I am writing this so that you remember the rush you felt when you walked into your classroom for the very first time.

You will, unfortunately, be used and manipulated, and you will be tested by students who want to get a step ahead, but when they look back in 30 years they will remember most how you responded to their efforts. Remember your classes from college-- sitting around tables, brimming with excitement when you discovered a new teaching method that worked. Getting that report back after student teaching that said, "I feel like you've been at this for years."

Don't forget this is your dream. Don't forget the imaginary class you used to teach in your bedroom--wind whistling through your missing teeth as you read Dr. Seuss to stuffed animals.
Don't forget this is your gift. The Lord has blessed you with the abilities to control a classroom and hold students' attention; to bury these gifts would be a shame. Don't forget the notes you received from your Seniors when you finished student teaching, or the money your freshman raised for your move to Kentucky. Don't forget what it felt like to leave those students and know you had given them 100%.

You will get tired. You will get sick of the routine...but so will your students, and they are looking to you to see if you will break this time. Don't break. Let them know you need their support as much as they need yours. Let them know that you expect the world from them...and don't ever stop believing that they will give you anything less.

Don't forget the time everyone around you was confused about the direction they were headed; about what career they would land........and then remember that you've always known-- that "I am a teacher" comes as easily to you as your name.

When papers stack up to be graded, write each comment with compassion, like you always said you would. Your students will read your scribbled writing in purple, "Be sure to pick past/present tense and stick with it throughout-- it will make this beautiful story even stronger." And they will hear in those words, "Someone still is taking the time to believe in you."

Remember to wear comfortable shoes because you need to be actively moving about your classroom all day.

When at first they don't understand Shakespeare, stick with it and remember the note you received from jock Jake's mom that said he was coming home talking about Romeo and Juliet.

Remember your "mission statement" in college that you wrote saying you will "Teach students, not subjects." Remember your college's vision for "Teacher as a Servant,"---that you aren't doing your job completely unless your students feel as if they are being served. Remember that Jesus was a great teacher. Remember to learn from your students. They have so much to teach you-- don't become too proud and forget this.

Above all remember that you love what you do. And remember that nothing done in love is ever wasted.

Sincerely,
Kelsey

So today when I read what others were saying about their jobs I was reminded just how blessed I am to have a career that I love to do. I was reminded of this letter I wrote myself over 4 years ago. I was reminded of how far I've come. I was reminded, once again, that nothing done in love is ever wasted and that my students notice.

Have a great weekend! :-) [And the 19 week baby bump will be appearing on a blog near you soon]

Our Story: Part X

So sorry to have taken such a long pause in getting back to this story. We're finally to the good parts too! Hang in there with me…hope you're still reading :)

To read this story from the beginning, click HERE and scroll to the bottom. Enjoy!

Part X:

Progression

Prom season found its way to my school in the spring. The girls bustle with excitement, sharing hair styles and dress colors. Brent and I are still communicating, in some form, daily. Mainly I still hear from him through emails, on occasion on the phone, and at least once a week at bible study or when our friends get together. Honestly, not much as changed between us since February.

Two months have passed without so much as a hand being held. One hug has been shared. I am becoming increasingly aware of these voids in the growth of our “relationship.” After all, aren’t those things supposed to happen naturally when you start “seeing someone?” When someone knows you like them, aren’t you supposed to show, in some physical way, affirmation that you like them too? I’d been waiting for this relationship to develop for what felt like an eternity, and now that it was happening I felt like I was just allowed to smile more freely around Brent—but not express anything else through a physical touch. I knew he liked me, because there was the song, and the secret side glances, and the increasing number of questions he asked in order to know me more. But I can’t help but wonder if something is wrong that causes him to pause when he wants to reach for me hand? Have I crossed too deeply into the “friendship threshold” to make him cringe at the thought of ever hugging me—or ever leaning in for a kiss?

We are close, very close, there is no doubting that. We share secrets and intimate moments, but my goodness I want to hold his hand—to feel its warmth in mine and know we are connected in a way he has connected with few others. Am I asking too much of our 2 month relationship? I asked my friend Brandon, who was well-versed in women and relationships—if there was something I was doing wrong. His advice? “Put on the Beatles ‘I Wanna Hold Your Hand’ the next time you’re in the car together.” Eye roll.

***

Spring was beginning to assert itself more openly on the trees around town, and Brent was coming over for supper. After eating we move to the front porch, our feet tucked under the railing and dangling into the evening air. As we chat, we subconsciously move closer and closer together. Eventually, amidst a conversation about future careers and college choices, our swinging feet become intertwined. As my left leg interlocks with his right, the conversation does not stop. I feel no tension enter the air. My pulse quickens slightly at the rare contact happening between us. The chill of Spring quickly seeps out of the woods around us, but I am determined to stay out here, legs linked, as long as my numbing body allows.

***

I slide into the pew next to Brent. Wednesday night youth group in St. Joe is one of my favorite times of the week. Not only do I get to have real worship with kids my age, but I get to see him. Sigh. The thought still makes my toes tingle.

As the youth pastor begins his announcements, Brent jots me a quick note on an old bulletin left in the pew from Sunday.

What do you want to do about this whole prom thing?

Is he seriously asking me to prom via a note, in the middle of youth group? Whatever. I’m too excited at the possibility of getting dressed up and dancing with him that I don’t care how lame it is.

I don’t care. What do you think? I scribble back, caring very deeply but still trying to play it cool in case he thinks it was the worst idea ever.

I mean, if you want to, we can go… I think its April 16^th.

I notice his wrong form of "its," affirming that my desire to pursue an English degree in the fall is the right one. And is he still testing me or does he really WANT to go? Okay…cool…sounds good to me. Mine is May 7^th.

Okay. :)

And with that, our “conversation” was over and I had a date to prom.

***

April 16^th came quickly. My pink, strapless tulle dress drapes my 18 year old frame. Brent pulls into the driveway and the cameras come out. He is wearing his dad’s old three piece suit as he hands me a corsage of daisies. He wraps his arm around my waist for a picture and I nearly shudder at the touch—I’m not used to feeling his body so near my own.

He holds the door open to his red Passat, the same car we shared our conversation in back in February, and as I grab the bottom of my dress and climb in I smile at him. He waves to my parents, still standing on the front porch with their cameras out, as he maneuvers around to the driver’s side. On the way out of town he nearly runs off the road. I grab the center console and he simply says, “Sorry, I just couldn’t stop looking at you.”

His school’s prom is held in the cafeteria. We enter the room and are immediately ushered over to the photographer. “Are you a couple or just here together?”

“A couple,” Brent answers without hesitation, answering not only the photographer’s question but mine as well.

“Okay, then I need you to stand behind her and put your arms here and…here…like so…perfect. Now you, lovely lady, if you could place your hands on his…perfect. Hold that.” I hope Brent doesn’t feel my heart pounding. He has his arms wrapped around my waist and is breathing on my neck—this is by far the closest I have ever been to this guy. FLASH! “Great, thanks. NEXT!” And just like that the moment has passed.

We sit down and we eat and laugh and then the music begins. I wrap my tan arms around his slender neck and we sway back and forth as the multi-colored lights dance on the white tile floor. Our conversation hops from topic to topic with the rhythm of the music, and when I divulge the secret that I’m not ticklish, he feels the need to check. He reaches for my armpits, and though I look dainty and lady-like, I know that he’ll find a large amount of sweat if he really reaches them. My reflexes are too slow and I grimace as he notices the perspiration. I’m finished. Totally finished. Why can’t I just “glisten” like a normal girl? Why do I have to sweat SO much?! He retracts his hand, and trying to save the moment I say something like, “I may not be ticklish but I sweat.”

I wait for what seems like minutes as he wipes his fingers inconspicuously on his suit jacket before he says, “It is kind of warm in here.” Unbelievable, he’s actually not going to send me packing right now!

The dance quickly withers like a rose in the heat of July, and so we gather our shoes and other belongings that are piled along the wall. Our friends ask if we’d like to join them for bowling, but we decide to pass—after all we only get so many moments together. After going back to his house, filling his parents in briefly on the hoopla of the dance, and changing into more comfortable clothes, we drive to a near by town with no specific plans on our mind; we don’t need plans, we have one another’s company. We stop at a gas station and tumble back into the car, and then…with no revelry or fanfare… he puts the car into drive and reaches over and grabs my hand.

I expect it to be like the time I held another boy’s hand in 8^th grade. We were at a super bowl party and our hands met, and we stayed like that, glued to the other, for the remainder of the game, afraid if we moved the other would let go. Two hours of sweaty palms and no movement is a strange thing. But here, in this car with Brent, it is the most natural thing to be holding his hand. I am not afraid to move, or even let go, because I know it will be there again. I caress his palm with my thumb as our conversation flows throughout the evening.

***

I find myself counting down the days until my school's prom—May 7^th seems to be dragging her pretty little feet. Eventually though, when I wake up, it's finally here.

This prom I'm going to hold nothing back. I know he is interested. We've held hands a couple times, and I look dang good in my black and white dress. This time he has rented a tux and borrowed his sister's black Tahoe. We are riding.in.style.

We decide, in order to save a little cash, to drive through Fazoli's and take our food to a park. We order, and I set my lemonade on the dashboard, bend over to fix my shoe strap, and Brent slams on the gas to get in the correct lane of traffic. My drink flies over…all over my beautiful dress. Normally, in this situation, I would freak out. But he's so apologetic and just so cute that I can't do anything but laugh. I scrounge around and find napkins to soak up the mess, and by the time we arrive at the park I'm feeling a little put back together.

Brent says grace and we dig in to our pasta meals. My stomach has been turning with excitement all morning, and I can barely calm it down enough now to eat. This NEVER happens to me. I glance across the picnic table at Brent and in my own silent prayer thank the Lord for this blessing. I notice Brent looking at something across the pond and follow his line of vision. A wedding! I hope beyond hope it is a sign, but then focus on trying to get some food in my stomach lest I scare this poor boy away.

We finally make it to the dance, no real signs that I'm wearing my lemonade, and begin to mingle with my friends. But as the night progresses, we continually find ourselves lost in conversation. He knows better than to try to tickle my armpits now, and as we slow dance on the gym floor it is as if we are the only ones in the room. I link my arms closer around his neck, and his hands link more to embrace me closer as we dance. The DJ switches to a new song and we continue to sway in the silent embrace listening to the lyrics, One word, that's all you said/ something in your voice caused me to turn my head. Your smile, just captured me, and you were in my future as far as I could see…You had me from hello…

"That's pretty much how it went," he whispers in my ear. I don't say anything, but feel the freedom to lay my head on his chest as he begins to sing in my ear.

Lord, if this night goes on forever I'd be okay with that, I pray as the song draws to a close.

***

We again forego an evening with friends and head back to my house. My mom has laid out all the necessary tools for making smores and my dad has stoked the fire, a real sign that this guy is growing on them too. We pull up our lawn chairs and in the glow of the fire I realize we are becoming more than just friends. I'm so overwhelmed by the situation and the evening and our inevitable futures apart that I become very quiet.

Noticing the change, he reaches over and grabs my knee. "You know, Kels, if I have to wait for you through four years of college I will."

baby bump- 18 weeks

dear baby,

i’m so glad you’re finally starting to show yourself. i know it has only been 18 weeks, but i’m already anxious to hold you in my arms. i have felt you fluttering away in there for a couple weeks now, and each time i feel like i get to know you a little bit more [kick again?...like now, please].

your dad and i are having a lot of fun dreaming about what our days will look like with you in them. even though he can’t feel your movements yet, he still rolls over in the morning and lays his hand on my belly to tell you “good morning.” [just so you know, we’re big fans of that guy].

we still are waiting to find out for another two weeks if you are a boy or a girl, and we’re very excited to hear the news. we plan on being immensely thrilled either way, just in case you’re worried.

for now, stay warm and cozy and keep growing and getting stronger. i will take good care of you [which means less coffee in the morning? eh? what do you think?]

i love you so much already!

love, mom

happenings

Torri was inducted into the National Honor Society a couple weeks ago. Way to go, Torri! We're proud of you…but you do have some pretty FABULOUS teachers ;-)

And Avree and Rylie FINALLY were able to come and spend the night and hang out. Despite some hiccups along the way [i.e. Rylie didn't bring one of Av's bags, we couldn't find PUMPKINS anywhere and I had my heart set on carving pumpkins…and we never got around to roasting our marshmellows etc] We had a really great time! I love these girls deeply and dearly,. For those of you that don't know, I babysat these two during the summers [and many nights in between] when they were much younger :) and we had some good times ].

Our masterpieces:

Rylie

Mine….get it?

Avree

And of course, Brent's. Rockchallk Jayhawk baby…it's basketball season now! :)