In Another Life

Tucker is learning more and more about writing his name as well as other letters, and I'd like to give him a few helpful pointers on pencil grip. He seems to think I know nothing about this, that I have no expertise to bring to the table.

I said, "Tuck, did you know I had a job before you were born?"

"Yep."

"Do you know what I did every single day?" (Waiting to wow him with my professional background that matches his kindergarten aspirations.)

"Yep. You were a princess."

From the kitchen, my husband grumbled sardonically, "Yeah, she was."

Ahem.

Times change, people change. Now, about that pencil.

What Comes to Mind?

Recently, I was teaching a lesson on syllabication (dividing words into syllables), and I needed to specifically teach about words that end in -le.

In case you were absent the day your fifth grade class learned this lesson, when a word ends in -le, you divide the syllable one letter before the -le. (ap/ple, wrin/kle, thim/ble, etc.)

(I know this is riveting. I bet you didn't sign on today for a lesson in grammar or word analysis, but that's what you get with me. Even over lunch conversation, sometimes. I'm a package deal. My mind is a scrolling SpellCheck.)

Anyway, none of the above listed words would come to my mind when I most needed them. Of all things, the ONLY -le word that would come to my mind was nipple.

I held my dry erase pen and marker in my hand, and I hosted this mental dialogue in my head.

Nipple.

No. Not nipple.

Apple. There we go.

Another example?

Nipple.

No.

Thimble. Good one.

And... Nipple.

NO.

Purple. Whew.

And... Nipple.

NO! Enough with the nipples already!

I managed to pull a few more out of my hat, including triple, twinkle, and nibble. We carefully avoided any audible discussion of a nipple, but only with some careful guidance of my own thoughts.

Good heavens. You'd think a seventh grade boy lives in my head.

Aside from teaching...

Last night, I had some very funny conversations with two of my students.

(I teach a few hours a week at a learning center, so by 'students,' I am referring not to Tucker or Tyler, but real, live children who come to me for help with run-on sentences, spelling words, thesis sentences, long division, phonemes, story problems, and the like.)

Aside from the learning goals, I have the pleasure of their conversation. And sometimes, it's downright bloggable.

*****

R is nine years old. He was not in the mood to study last night. He had many reasons to be unproductive, and he listed them for me. I presented his options; he could try really hard to get nothing done, or he could put to test what other students believe to be the infallible formula for making time fly: do your best, and don't look at the clock. When you try hard and stay focused, somehow, the time flies -- or so they tell me. I promised him that it was his choice, and it was of absolutely no consequence to me. I would sit across from him either way, but I was certain his paying parents would approve of Plan B.

Reluctantly, he settled in. Just before he practiced adding three-digit numbers with regrouping, he said, "Okay, but I have a cold. And I'm coughing a lot. So I will probably need to get up and cough into something, like a trash can or the toilet. You know how it can be with men."

How it can be with men, he told me. He's nine.

I assured him that I do, indeed, know how it can be with men. And I showed him the closest trash can, should he need it. And once we had covered those ground rules, he got to work.

Good thing I have a couple of men of my own, who are only shortly behind these antics.

*****

C is a doll. He's in second grade - the transparent stage of loving what he loves, without apology. He is ready for a good time, and he will do any task at all as long as I present it as a game. Eager as I am to have a good time, and also a lover of a good game, I present many concepts inside this framework. We have fun. And, he's learning place value in the process, so it works well for both of us.

Meanwhile, our learning center is hosting an appreciation night for the students' favorite teachers from school. Each student fills out a nomination form, listing a favorite classroom teacher with reasons why. We'll invite all of those nominees, and we'll honor them for their hard work in this journey. (Teachers can never get too many applause. That's what I say.)

C said, "I really wish I could nominate someone from the center, because I would choose you."

(This is very sweet of him, but I assure you, it's not why I am writing this blog post: to toot my own horn . Read on.)

"I would choose you because we have magical, mystical fairytale fun together."

Ahem. "We do??"

"Well, I just made that up. But it sounds great, doesn't it?"

It sounds, something. Something that it should not sound like.

Let the record show: it is not my desire for any student to report any magical, mystical, fairytale fun with Miss Tricia. Not ever. There are many words to describe my teaching strategies, but let's steer clear of these.

I promise... by magical, mystical, fairytale abilities, he means multiplication. I promise.

I'm a wonder with those math facts.

(Oh, my word.)

The Perils of a Teacher in the Family

My poor husband. He hates to read. He is not illiterate. He is nonliterate. He is capable; he chooses not to.

Sadly for him, he married a girl who can't get enough. I have a different book in my hands every time he returns home from the current business trip, and I have them stacked up on my bookshelf: my personal lineup for an endless literary feast.

When we were newlyweds, I read to him before we fell asleep at night. And then I would quiz him the next day, with comprehension questions to make sure he was listening and not dozing off at the sound of my voice. Isn't that such a Teacher thing to do? Listen carefully, young student. There will be a quiz. And not tonight, but in the morning. I'm looking for retention here, mister.

(There are many things about this paragraph that are clearly unique to early marriage. The greatest of all is the fact that he participated at all. He still loves me, even more so than our early days, but he doesn't feel quite so compelled to follow my every whim and great idea.)

Poor guy.

My brother can relate. I forced him to play school even before he was old enough to attend, even before he had formulated his own opinions about the routines of the classroom. His strong opinions consisted of three words: No Thank You.

And now, my children fall prey to my love for teaching. But for them, there is no way out. They can neither outgrow me nor shut me down, for a very long time. They're stuck.

They got a teacher for a mommy. And a mommy for a teacher.

(It could be worse, little men of mine.)

I Think I'm Going to Borrow That One.

Earlier this evening, during a lesson on analogies, my student said to me:

"Jet is to plane as ferry is to boat. And ferry is a kind of boat, but it's also like a little tiny princess. Like the tooth fairy."

(Sidenote: I love the random conversations that are the side dish of teaching small children.)

The boy next to him chimed in: "And I heard that the tooth fairy looks like one of your relatives."

The first boy asked, "She does?? Have you seen her?"

Second boy: "Nope. But I know she looks like someone in my family."

Well, somebody has a very smart mommy.

(I'll tuck that one away.)

Future Med Student

One of my students said to me today:

"Miss Tricia, did I tell you my brother had surgery? He had his independix taken out."

There is almost nothing that elementary-age boys love more than a medical report on behalf of a family member. And they almost never have the facts straight.

Fill Me Up...

"The effective teacher always teaches from the overflow of a full life."

~ Howard Hendricks

Teaching to Change Lives

The Measure of Success

Our favorite pizza restaurant boasts the artwork and thank you notes of its many patrons. While we wait for our beloved garlic knots appetizer, we can peruse the work of those who have come before - all on napkins, all framed. It's the benefit of being independently owned - you can decorate your walls however you choose.

There are autographs from Denver athletes, doodles from busy preschoolers, and notes, notes, notes from elementary students. Very charming.

This past weekend, this lovely message hung next to our table:

Dear Big Bill,

Your pizza is the best.

I love the ravioli and the pepperoni pizza best of all.

I have heard you are very successful.

I don't want to be successful.

I want to be a teacher.

Love,

Emily, age 9

Hey. Wait a minute. What is this about?? Oh, the paragraphs I could write to overturn this philosophy of success vs. teaching. Frankly, don't get me started.

But she's nine. And I know what she means.

More power to you, sister. The future independent business owners of America need you to be their teacher.

Labor Day...

It was the Friday before Labor Day in my kindergarten classroom. Ever aware of the "teachable moment," I wanted to enlighten my students as to why they would get an extra "stay at home day" this weekend.

I said, "You see, Labor Day is the day when we honor all the people who serve and protect our country...." I continued with one paragraph after another, telling all the reasons why it's important to honor the people who serve or have served in our Armed Forces.

All the while, in the back of my classroom, my faithful teaching assistant (a veteran herself) was doing everything in her power to get my attention. She was waving the white flag, the checkered flag, the red flag, and the many backpacks - anything to get me to shut my mouth and please, in the name of everything that is educational, stop misinforming these children.

Oh, wait. That's Veteran's Day. Never mind. See you Tuesday.

A Word about Kindergarten.

I loved teaching kindergarten. I loved it.

I loved my third graders, too, and I am very confident that I would love to teach those other two grades in between. I am a "lower primary" girl... bring on the bulletin boards, the phonics, the handwriting, Sparkle with the spelling words, and Around the World with math facts.


I love it. Some days, I really miss it. Especially this time of year, when I know just what I would do in my classroom to get us on the right foot, to create our environment, and to start the school year strong. Especially with the kindergartners, these first few weeks set a very crucial pattern that lays the groundwork for the next nine months. And I loved it.


So.... it bothers me tremendously when people (educators and otherwise) comment or behave as though kindergarten is glorified daycare.


I've heard these delightful and affirming comments:

"Oh, I could never teach kindergarten. I think I'd be like, 'tie your own
shoe.'"

"Don't you get sick of wiping noses??"

"No, thanks. I like to really teach... leave the babysitting to their
moms."

"Kindergarten?? They're not even real people yet."

"Oh, too little. They can't really think yet."

Comments like these? Not my favorite. Here's what I want to say, in response:

You're probably right. If you think you would hate it, you probably would. It's very, very demanding. It is a good three months before they can truly work independently, so that means it's a good three months before I get to sit down at my desk while they work at theirs.


There is very little nose wiping, some shoe tying, but lots of hand holding. And that's an honored privilege, because I'm the new person their parents have entrusted with this job of loving this child.


There is a LOT of truth in the statement, "Everything I need to know, I learned in kindergarten." It's a big year, and there is immeasurable, exponential growth from the first day to the last. I dare say there is more academic growth in that year than any other, but I may be biased. I will allow for that possibility, but I would also be curious to know if it can be measured and compared. It's truly a year of growth every single day.

The most important role of a kindergarten teacher is to give these children a solid start. Kindergarten is the new first grade; while this first year was once about playing and singing, it's now all about learning to read: a book, a clock, a calendar. It's about teaching children to love this place, to make them want to come back, tomorrow and next year.

Another significant piece of the kindergarten pie chart is the parents. While kindergarten teachers are educating children, they are also teaching the parents. It is that teacher's job to help parents make this transition into school, to establish the relationship between the school and the parent, to build confidence and trust in the teacher and the system of education at large. It's a big task. And the relationships with all those moms and dads are just as important as the ones with their children; we are all partners in the task of teaching each child to read.

And to the teachers of older grades:

On that first day of school, did your students know how to stand in a line? Did they raise their hands before they shouted answers? Could they write their names at the top of the paper? Could they travel quietly in the hallway?

They learned that in kindergarten. You're welcome.

You are right: kindergarten is not for everyone. But neither is seventh grade algebra. I couldn't do it. I have long said it's really a good thing that God made every teacher with a desired grade and subject to teach, and it's great that we don't all like the same one. Because that would leave lots of us without jobs or terribly disappointed with the one we have.

Teachers are all working together, striving toward the same goal, building on the skills the last teacher taught. In their year with me, I'm trying to get them ready for their year with you. I will respect what you do; please respect what I do, too.

That's what I want to say. But instead, I just say, "Oh, I really love it."

I love the kindergartners. And I will belong to them again someday.

As I've Said Before: The Teacher Hears It All.

This past Sunday, I was teaching the preschool class at our church. We were talking about God's creation, all the things He has made. We talked about the seasons, the weather, the people all over the world, and the animals all throughout wilderness.


I had two little boys in my class who are home on furlough; they are missionaries in Rwanda. As we listed animals God has made, one little boy said, "Rats!! God made rats!"


He sure did. I'm not sure why, but He did.


The little boy continued:


"In Rwanda, rats are everywhere. We couldn't get away from them. They were all over our house. We even baked one."


"You baked one??"


"Yep. In the oven."


"Did you bake it on purpose?"


"No, we were baking brownies. And the rat ran in the oven. We didn't know he was in there. When we opened the oven, the brownies were all gone and so was the rat."


And his older brother simply nodded his head in agreement. Silent affirmation: it's all true.


Ew.


Confirmation: the teacher hears it ALL. And, I don't think I'm cut out to live in Rwanda.

What Teachers Dream...

I have very vivid dreams.

When Robb and I were engaged, I had dreams of weddings gone bad, one of which included me snagging my train on the way down the aisle, my dress tearing off mid-thigh and fluffing up like an umbrella around my waist, all while I dodged the food from a food fight happening between the guests seated on either side of the aisle.

When I was pregnant, I had dreams of all kinds of inappropriate labors and deliveries, not the least of which was my cousin Buddy delivering the baby while my brother tried to peek underneath the sheets to see what was happening. That one was weird.

So, almost every night I have some kind of dream that leaves me wondering where my psyche has been throughout the night. The topic and setting only varies by my season of life.

Last night, I had a teacher nightmare. I woke up, startled and sweating, realizing I had not taught any math lessons all year long. I was teaching third grade (which I have not done in FIVE YEARS), and we had gotten long into the school year without me giving any attention to the mathematical needs of my students.

For you fellow instructors out there, you'll understand this: it was revealed that I was only on Lesson #6 in the Saxon Math curriculum.

Suddenly, in my half-awake state, I was scrambling to think how I could teach them the basics of long division, in time for state testing and third grade graduation. I thought through the months of the year, trying to determine how much time I had left and how many basic skills I could cram in before anyone realized my incompetency in managing a curriculum calendar. I was horrified to learn that June is nearly over, and my time was up. I wondered how I would possibly keep my job, after neglecting an entire subject for an entire community of eight-year-olds.

And then I realized that none of this had really happened. Not only is it not a concern for my present life, but I have also been out of the field of fulltime teaching for more than three years. And when I was teaching fulltime, I managed the curriculum just fine, thank you.

So what on earth is making me dream such things??

It's possible that my subconscious mind fears that Tucker's speech delay is causing other delays in his learning, and that I, his teacher, am very behind other teachers in this stay-at-home classroom.

But that's not as much fun to think about.

Regardless, my dreams are worth noting, mostly for their absurdity, and sometimes for their magnifiying properties of what I am really worried about.

So, what did we learn today??

I teach the preschool class at our church, and I was delighted to teach them a lesson on Joy this past Sunday morning. My heart has taken a dive this week, which also happens to be why I haven't blogged in a few days... so it was a good reminder to look at truth in the most basic, childlike way, to see what joy really is.

As I explained to the threes and fours, joy is choosing to be happy, even when it's hard. We can be happy, because God gives us joy.

We talked about joy in so many ways. We read a story about a boy who needed to pick apples with his family, but he just wanted to play in the apple orchard. Finally, he decided to help his family, and we all learned how happy we can feel when we help others with a smile.

We memorized verses. Rejoice in the Lord, always. I will say it again: Rejoice!

They listened. They chanted. They sang. They danced for joy. They made Fruit Loop necklaces (since we were talking about the Fruits of the Spirit, of course), with a Joy Pendant dangling in the middle. And all through the morning, I reminded them to smile and be happy.

They were really getting it, and that is one of the finest moments in teaching: when they get it. One little boy accidentally stepped on the fingers of a little girl, and as she cried and he apologized, he said, "I'm so sorry. I was just jumping for joy." (How sweet is that?)

I asked them, "What are we learning about today?"

A chorus of preschoolers shouted: "JOY!"

Again and again, I said, "We can be happy because God gives us..."

And in sweet unison, they shouted, "JOY!!"

And because I know better than ever the heart of a parent, I asked them a few times, "When you see your moms and dads after church, you can tell them what we learned. We learned that God gives us..."

Without fail, and with great exuberance, they shouted: "JOY!"

At the end of the morning, their parents came to retrieve them. As their Moms and Dads greeted them, the parents asked (and I alternately prompted), "What did you learn about today?"

And without fail, not a single child had an answer. Their lips were zipped up tight. Nothing. All of their enthusiasm... gone. Not a bit of joy to be found. Nobody reported their findings from the Word of God. Nobody!

Man cannot live on bread alone... but it appears that preschoolers are content with fruit loops.

Mom's Just Know.

During a recent evening of work at Sylvan Learning Center, I had the privilege of teaching two little brothers who are very close in age - very similar to my two. As I worked with them, and I watched them laugh together, banter back and forth, and applaud each other's efforts, I realized: this is a picture of my two little guys, in five years. It was very endearing.

Probably because I was distracted by future visions of my own boys, I kept getting them confused. I kept calling one by the other's name, giving one boy his brother's workbook... I just could not keep them straight.

I joked with them, "Guys, how does your mom ever tell you two apart?"

And without missing a beat, the older brother, just seven years old, said, "Well, Miss Tricia, she knows us."

She sure does. Moms just do.

The Best Thing About Teaching...

One of the best things about being a teacher is studying the students.

I loved getting to know my students, their favorite things, their strengths and weaknesses, their families, their pets, their plans for the future, their learning styles. I loved it.

I have always loved talking with my students. There are few things more precious than receiving a child's trust, so that he wants to tell you about his day, his dream last night, his loose tooth, his every thought. (Truly, one of my greatest classroom management challenges was learning how to balance their every thought against the curriculum demands.)

When I taught third grade, each of my students moved into my heart in his or her own way... there is nothing like that first year of teaching, that first class roster, that first crew to baptize a new teacher into all there is to running a classroom. I loved each and every one of them, and I still miss them sometimes. We had a great community in that classroom - all of us.

My heart belonged especially to two little boys in my third grade class. They needed me to be their teacher that year. Our relationship was ordained, meant to be, for those nine months and beyond. They needed someone to love them, believe in them, and hold them accountable to what they were really capable of. We did great things together, those boys and me.

One of them was L, who made some major transformations in character and maturity. I studied up on The Strong Willed Child, and he and I battled day in and day out for a good number of weeks... until he learned that I mean what I say, he can feel safe in this environment, and he could trust me. After that, we were inseparable. We paced the playground together so he could calm down from a potential meltdown. I talked him out from under the picnic table on the playground, when he wore his pajamas to school on the wrong day. We did our own book studies together, since his reading level and sense of humor often far surpassed the curriculum. We were quite a team. At the end of the year, he wrote me a letter that I will never lose or forget.
It was a turning point for him. In fact, his fourth grade teachers attributed much of his success to many of the battles L and I fought together. I could write a book on my experiences with him that year, and someday I will. Truly.

And then there was my other buddy, C. We were also quite a team, but in a very different, very loving, much easier way. Simply, I understood him. When I met with his parents early in the school year to talk about his progress, his mom said through tears, "You like my son. You really like my son."

As a mother now, I really get that. His second grade teacher hadn't been his biggest fan, and this little guy just needed somebody to like him. I sure did. A lot. He knew how to wink, and that was our nonverbal exchange in the classroom. That was my way of complimenting him on great behavior and good work, and it was his way of saying hello to me, anytime he wanted to. He was a great kid.

At the end of the school year, C's family moved to Australia. Now, that's a move. His dad was native to Australia, and their love for ministry took them to another continent. As C geared up for the move, we had many talks and read some good books together - not the least of which was Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day. Because, if you'll recall, Alexander wishes to escape from it all with a move to Australia.

Before C and his family moved away, my buddy and I had an ice cream date. I prepared to start a new school year, with a whole new classroom and roster of children who would steal my heart in their own way. One day before the new year started, I took a break from my classroom to have ice cream with my now-fourth-grade friend. I drove, he rode in the backseat, and we went to Coldstone Creamery. We had ice cream sundaes, and we played Crazy Eights. It was unforgettable. Just before we got in the car, his mom said, "Make sure you let him pay. This is very important to him." I let him.

I just got a letter from C. He has lived in Australia for four years now, and he is gearing up for a ministry trip to Africa this summer. He is now a young man, a very skilled writer, and a believing Christian on a mission to change the world for the Lord. And I got to be his third grade teacher. The whole idea is pretty overwhelming and humbling.

I don't write any of this to give myself a pat on the back... this isn't about me. It's bigger than me. It's just my written proof that this is what I was meant to do. This is what can happen when a teacher strives to love her students with the love of God, to show them that there are no conditions in this classroom, they are safe, they are loved, and they can do this.

As a teacher in a secular classroom, I was most encouraged by families who knew the Lord, whose children were bright lights in a dark world. But I was also encouraged to think that someday, my students who didn't yet know the Lord would one day find Him... and maybe they would look back on their experience in my classroom and think, "I bet she knew the Lord, too. She just had to."

As I've often written, my home is my classroom now; my boys are my students. And I delight in studying them, learning them, and talking with them, someday.

And someday, when they don't need as much from me in such a physical, tangible, all-day-everyday way, I'll get back into that classroom.

It's where I'm meant to be - loving kids in little ways that mean everything.

Therein lies the problem.

I got a call last night from my college alma mater. They are doing a fundraiser for the College of Education, and they are asking their alumni to pledge a donation.

When the kind young man finished reading his script, I said, "Well, you see, I would love to give to the College of Education. But the problem is that I graduated from the College of Education. I became a teacher. Therefore, I don't have any money to give you. Now, if I had perhaps graduated from the College of Pre-Law, or the College of Engineering, or the College of Medicine, then my circumstances might be different. But since I graduated from the College of Education, I cannot give to the College of Education."

He understood, heartily.

How do I put this... delicately??

Last Saturday morning at work, I was teaching a little girl who was learning about synonyms. Her assignment was to match words that belong together, that have the same meaning, that are, well, synonyms.

Her word was build, and she could not find the matching word.

I looked at the assignment to see if I could help her out, and I was shocked to see that the matching word was - get this - erect.

She said, "I know what all the other words mean, but I don't know this one. What does it mean?"
"Well, let's see. Erect. Well, erect means... well, it means, like, um... when something stands up."

I could feel myself blushing. She was looking at me, blankly. Clearly, she needed more information.

"You know... um... erect means, well, when something stands up tall. I mean... let's see. Like a statue. You erect a statue. Or a building. You erect a building."

Oh, for crying out loud! Why can't I explain this like an adult? I'm not in fifth grade, for heaven's sake!

I finally gave in, in the name of all propriety. "It's the same as build. That's the answer."

Seriously, why couldn't they have given the word create? Or something just a bit less multiple in its meanings??

The Kindergarten Teacher Hears It ALL

For those of you who have ever had a child in kindergarten, or for those of you who have children yet to start school, let me tell you one important thing I have learned to be absolutely, 100% true:

Your child's kindergarten teacher knows a LOT about your family.

Having been a kindergarten teacher myself, I could write volumes on the things I have learned from my students.

Some of them are most endearing, such as the little boy who told me all about his girlfriend, how she was so beautiful and he loved her so very much, only to finish the story by telling me her name: Mommy.

But there are others. By golly, there are others.

Like the little boy who told me that his mom didn't like the family dog, because it was always humping her and guests in their home.

I have learned a lot from the five-year-old perspectives on snoring habits, breastfeeding, bad words, kissing, bad breath, and many, many more.

Here is my personal favorite:

"Teacher, would you please pray for my family? My parents want to have another baby, and I want to be a big sister, but my daddy has a low sperm count. I'm quite a blessing, you know."
Try to keep that one out of your mind at a parent-teacher conference!

I dearly love five-year-olds, and I love to hear their stories. They have a lot to say.

Yes, I know I am just three years from having a story-teller of my own. I'm sure our family secrets will be hung out to dry, along with yours. Stay tuned for some of my own mortifying experiences, as Tucker someday learns to tell all.

I Know I've Taught Kindergarten When...

... I sing the "Clean Up Song" to Tucker when it's time to put the toys away.

... I ask comprehension questions as I read stories aloud to Tyler, my five-month-old.

... I have wooden jewelry for nearly every season and holiday.

... I have stationery on my fridge that corresponds with the month of the year. (Only because I just cannot justify a full-blown bulletin board.)

.... I have actually asked my 32-year-old husband, "Honey, what is your job right now? What should you be doing?" (Not one of my finest moments as a wife.)

Let's give it a shot...

Okay. You got me. Here I am. I have officially become a Blogger. I am told this is both an exciting and addicting hobby, and I am ready to give it a shot.

Why, you might ask? Well, there are many reasons.

At my very core, I am two things: a teacher and a writer.

I must write. That's all there is to it. It's like an itch I have to scratch - there is no ignoring it. I believe this will be my outlet, and I will write as often as I can about as much as I choose, letting the writer in me run free.

I am also a teacher. It is not just an occupation to me... it is part of who I am. I taught full-time in an elementary classroom before my children were born, and now I my classroom is my home. I spend my days teaching my two little boys, which is how I came to name the blog: Teaching Tuck and Ty. There is so much happening in my life everyday that is, at the very least, worth reflecting upon, to see what I can learn about myself, my boys, or my life. I know the value of journaling to immortalize moments, document events, and to sort through emotions, but I am not so committed to my writing unless I have an audience.

That's where you come in, my friends and family all over the country. This blog will allow me to do many things at once:

• It will serve as my outlet to write - this will be my journal to reflect on the many somethings that make up my day as a stay-at-home Mom.
• It will enable me to keep you updated on the curious and (sometimes hilarious) developments of Tucker and Tyler.
• It will encourage me to write down the things that I otherwise might have forgotten, and believe me: these days are with my little men are priceless. I don't want to let them go, and this will help me keep them forever.
• It will... well, who knows what else? The possibilities are endless, and I am so excited to get started.

Feel free to drop in now and then, and I will hope to engage you in something new that's on my mind. Join me, will you?