As fall is a time of reflection...

As fall is a time of reflection...
A time to soak in every detail of warm sunshine,
hearing stillness of a slightly crisp breeze that hints of the oncoming stark, coldness of winter.
I see the greens of the grass as the blades prepare to fade for the season.
Everything comes into focus.
Everything seems a little sharper -
a sense of feeling life a little deeper.

As I walk I have this sudden sense -

I am a walking, breathing, living product
of thousands of years of ancestors,
who cumulatively create me.

My bones are the bones of men and women who walked and worked this same Earth. My lungs are the DNA of lungs that sighed and huffed and puffed before mine.
My heart is a thousand hearts who've loved, laughed, hurt, cried and grieved.
My hands...
My blood...
My hair is like the many heads of hair that have felt warm sunshine.
My skin that grows freckled from the same sun that has shined for millions of years.
I am a combination of very real blood, sweat and tears.

And one day my grandchildren will grow and come to be as I am now; while I join the ranks of the ancestors before me,
and become another grain of sand in the long line of those who proceeded me.

But, like them, I add my own blood, bones, sweat, laughter, tears and experience - that I can only pass on through two things -
my influence, and my DNA.

--Norda Barrowes 10/2/2015

Epiphany

Last night as I lay in bed, I was catching my husband up on an Odan situation that I had reported to him the night before as we were about to fall asleep. Odan was having a hard time feeling motivated to go to school (what kid doesn't now and then?), but his reasoning was pretty sound. His class is a difficult one. There are many kids who "have a hard time" as we call it. And his teacher in an effort to deal with these kids often has the whole class put their heads down after three strikes. Odan was having a hard time understanding why he was being punished when he tries really hard to be good. I get it. Working at the school an hour and half every day and spending the first half hour specifically with the first graders, I'd probably be doing the same thing. However, trying to convince my son he is doing good enough and that his self-worth shouldn't be coming from whether or not he puts his head down with the whole class, is another story.

Thankfully, he talked to his teacher about it like I asked him to, and my reminders to him that some kids aren't taught good behavior skills at home, helped. He came home yesterday feeling more optimistic about school. Even cheerful.

After my report to Kendall about this whole situation, he simply replied to me a thank you. But it wasn't just "thank you for handling that situation", but a sincere thanks for being involved with our children's lives. For being in tune to their needs, their strengths, their weaknesses, and helping them learn how to grow, and deal with the things that come up in their lives. He told me he is thankful that his kids are in such good hands, and how much he values not having to worry, knowing I am here for them. That I know them and pay attention to the little things that all to easily can become big things.

And it dawned on me. I do a lot of work around here.

It isn't in the form of diapers, nursing and nap times anymore. But it's a lot of work. And it's a work I'd never trade for the whole world. Not for the pair of pants I've been eyeing for a couple of months. Or the Spring Break vacation I've had to let go of due to our tight budget.

Sometimes I forget the purpose of what I'm doing. And my husband's sincere thank you helped me remember not only that I am a hard worker, and that my work has value, but that I, myself, wouldn't have it any other way.