Join Two Writing Teachers and other teacher-writers as we share a slice of life every single day in the month of March.
It is 6:30 PM on day two, and I already at a loss. I have looked for slices all day. I even told my colleagues at lunch that I needed a story, but nothing has been worthy of word-smithing. We were talking about breaking down in front of our assistant principal (who is amazing!).
Another teacher said, "You farted in front of Nancy?"
We all burst out laughing, and I said, "I think I have my story!"
Well...thank goodness that's really not my slice. But that is how desperate I was.
Tonight during our Time to Write writing time, a new member of the group said she was selling her house and was needed to write about her house and her favorite part. Bingo! I had my slice.
We built our house 30 years ago. I love many things about our house, so it is really difficult to choose just one. But if I had to choose, it would be our porches. We have porches on the front and the back that run the entire length of the house. This is where dreams were made and stories were shared and where we learned how to love.
I remember the day we moved in: July 1st, 1992, two years after we were married. I was nine months pregnant and my feet were so swollen I could not wear shoes, and I could hardly walk. I sat on the porch swing while my husband, sister, and mother unpacked my boxes. I just sat and told them where to put everything.
Those porches, with their Cracker Barrell rocking chairs and potted geraniums, have held such special memories. It was my quiet spot with each of my babies where we would rock or swing for hours, singing lullabies and whispering secrets just between the two of us. It also became my time-out from motherhood. I would go out and read and sip iced tea while my husband gave the kids their baths, read them books, or had playtime. I could hear them giggle through the open windows, reminding me the stress of staying home with our children was all worth it.
As they grew up, we would have picnics or snacks on the porch where the lined up the peanut butter jars waited to catch fireflies later in the evening. The years quickly moved forward, and I began watching Megan shoot basket after basket on the court at the end of the driveway, perfecting her three-point shot. Ethan would be skateboarding trying kickflips and ollies over and over until he landed them.
Now, I sit on the back porch with my grown children. Megan and I grading papers together in silence and solving the world's educational problems. We laugh at funny stories about things that happened at school and share the stresses of teaching. Ethan shares about his band, where they are playing next, and what new songs he has learned. He tells me about the skateparks he has been to and the kids in crisis that he met with that week and tried to coach.
If these log rails could talk, they would have so many stories to tell, so many memories to share.
A lot of life has happened on our front porch, yet I know it also has many dreams left to hold.