Last week our family spent a few days in Santa Barbara.  We took advantage of the “Downtown Shuttle” that, for 50 cents each, took us down State Street to Stearns Wharf.  For another 50 cents, we rode the shuttle north, back to our original starting point.

It was on our return trip that I observed two different groups of riders and found myself eavesdropping on their conversation with each other.  Three young adults made up one group; they were visiting from Brazil.  Four ladies, all seniors who live together at Leisure World in Seal Beach, chatted with them.  I watched and listened to these two groups of travelers and found myself proud and envious of both of them.

Since my son was five, we’ve taken at least one yearly family trip (usually one during spring break and one during the summer).  So far, all of our trips have been road trips within the state of California.  We’ve explored LEGOLAND, the San Diego Zoo Safari Park, Sea World, the Santa Barbara Zoo, and the town of Cambria. 

But it is my hope that we instill in Ryan a curiosity to travel even further; a wonder, appreciation, and yearning to visit places that are different.  And beyond this curiosity and inclination to travel, I hope Ryan is also brave.  Brave enough to leave the comfort and security that comes with the familiar to venture to somewhere new. 

This is a week of very mixed emotions for me. 

Seven years ago I woke up with a swollen left calf.  So swollen that I couldn’t stand up.  So swollen that my husband sat me in my rolling desk chair, wheeled me out to our car, and took me to the emergency room.

The swelling eventually went down and after four days in the hospital, I went home.  But I didn’t know then that my legs would never be the same.  I didn’t know then that my life would never be the same.  I didn’t know then that three years after that fateful Sunday morning, I’d have to retire from the profession I loved.

Often I think of my students, the kids I taught and the kids I’ll never teach.  And then recently I discovered something about me at www.ratemyteachers.com.  (You can read it by clicking here).

I can’t even completely describe how it touched my heart to read these incredibly kind words left by an anonymous student. 

In the picture above, my nine-year-old son and I are playing handball.  It’s not the handball that athletes play in the Olympics.  It’s the handball kids like Ryan love to play on elementary school playgrounds.  It’s the handball game Ryan likes playing with me.

For us though, it’s not just a game. 

Click here to read my personal essay “Living by the Rules of My Son’s Playground Game” that was recently published at Parent.co.

And, for those of you who use social media, I would really appreciate it if you could spread the word about my essay!

 

We’re into week 3 of my son’s summer break.  Ryan opts not to attend any type of summer day-camp and instead we spend the days together.  We’ve already visited several museums (including the Petersen Automative Museum, the California Science Center to check out the Body Worlds: Pulse Exhibit, and the Discovery Cube because we were curious about their Dinosaurs Unearthed Exhibit).

While our museum trips have been fun (our favorite so far has been the exhausting five hours we spent at the California Science Center), some of my favorite times have been spent with Ryan at the library and our neighborhood bookstore.  We visit the library each week, and we read each day. 

It makes me enormously proud to say that Ryan doesn’t look at our trips to the library as a chore.  He enjoys them.  Ryan is growing up to be a person who values books and who looks to books for information, for explanation, and for entertainment.  And as a reader, and a writer, I couldn’t ask for more than that.

The other afternoon, my son and I spent some time sitting on our patio, reading books.  My nine-year-old has eclectic taste when it comes to music and books.  We read a biography about baseball legend Jackie Robinson, we read Curious George Discovers The Sun (a book that mixes the fictional world of Curious George with nonfiction facts and scientific concepts), and we ended with the Dr. Seuss classic Horton Hatches the Egg.

In Horton Hatches the Egg, Horton promised a bird named Mayzie that he’d look after her egg.  This elephant sits on her egg for a total of fifty-one weeks, enduring drastic weather changes, taunts and teases, and being kidnapped and taken to a circus as an oddity.  All because Horton made a promise to look after this egg, and as Horton says, “I meant what I said and I said what I meant … an elephant’s faithful one hundred per cent.”

In another Horton book, Horton Hears a Who!, Horton is determined to take care of a speck he found because “A person’s a person, no matter how small.”  Meaning we all deserve respect and compassion regardless of our size, or how we look, or what we eat, or what language we speak, or who we choose to love. 

And I’ve come to the conclusion that the world would be a much better place if everyone was more like Horton.  Not that we should all become elephants, but that we should all adopt Horton’s personality traits.

 

I’ve got a confession to make — I didn’t write a blog post this week.  Which I guess isn’t entirely accurate since you’re reading this now.  But I didn’t write an original blog post this week.  Though I have been writing.  A lot.

If you haven’t checked out my “Published Work” link on the left, then you may not know that I am a regular contributor at MomsLA.com.

I have been doing a lot of writing for MomsLA lately.  So this week, I thought I’d share with my readers some of that writing.

Click here to read my list of the “Best Public Libraries In And Around Los Angeles To Visit With Kids”

Click here to read about the “Best Water Parks In And Around Los Angeles”

Click here to read my post “100 Days of Summer Fun In L.A. With Kids”

My son’s last day of school is Friday.  When the bell rings that afternoon, he will no longer be a third grader.  We’ll say good-bye to his teacher and his classmates.

In two months, he’ll go back to school as a fourth-grader. He won’t learn his teacher’s name until the first day of school.  But for some parents, they already know.  They are requesting specific teachers for their children.  As a parent and former teacher, I don’t agree with this practice. 

To find out why, click here to read my essay, “A Lesson in Giving Up Control: Why Parents Shouldn’t Request Their Child’s Teacher,” on MomsLA.com.

Last week I wrote about receiving my disabled parking placard.  This week I’m writing about actually using it.

Let me start by saying that, when possible, I always venture onto the residential streets to try and find a “freebie” spot.  While some meters give me an hour for $1, others double that rate.  And I know that walking is good exercise for me, so I don’t mind parking a block or so away. 

But last week, I couldn’t find a freebie spot, so I was forced to park at a closer spot, one that had a meter.  I reached for my credit card to pay the meter and then stopped myself.  I had a decision to make.  Should I pay like I usually do or park for free by displaying my placard?  I was torn and really didn’t know how best to handle the situation.  Neither decision felt quite right to me. 

I have “earned” this placard (if that’s the right word) and thus was “entitled” (again, not sure that’s the right word either) to free parking.

But. 

But I don’t “look” disabled.  But, the two dollars won’t make or break me. 

And, putting up that placard puts me and my situation out on display.

It wasn’t easy, but I did it.  I parked and walked towards my doctor’s appointment, feeling like at any moment someone would call me out as a fraud.  I know I’m not a fraud.  I know that this, sadly, is my reality.  But it’s a reality I sometimes feel unprepared for.

The picture above shows the items I received in the mail a few days ago.  Maybe it’s because I’m a writer, but I couldn’t help noticing the combination.

My Writer’s Digest magazine — a subscription I’ve had for a few years now.  I read each issue, marking pages with Post-Its, highlighting passages, reading it as a writer looking for information and inspiration.  Because since I am no longer a teacher (because of a disability), I am a writer.

The other item, my disabled placard, is one I’ve had mixed feelings about for quite a while.  I’ve been vehemently opposed to getting one and worried that I wouldn’t even qualify for one.  Although, as my husband pointed out, I’m no longer teaching due to my disability, and I receive a monthly disability check, so it really wouldn’t be a stretch to think I’d qualify for a placard. 

(Click here to read my essay on Role Reboot.org titled “Why I Don’t Hang a Disabled Person Placard In My Car.”)

But the placard is such a visible sign that there’s something wrong with me.  And I still believe there are others who need it more than I do.  But lately, there have been times I’ve really felt like I needed it too.  Like the day we parked several blocks away from my rheumatologist’s office to save money by not parking in the building’s parking lot.  We weren’t sure how long we’d be so I opted out of an hour-only metered spot.  A disabled placard would have made finding a parking spot much easier.

I haven’t used the placard yet.  I haven’t even put it in the car yet.  But I will. 

And one day I’ll use it.  And that will be it’s own essay.

Mother’s Day may come once a year, but the art of mothering is a 365-day-a-year responsibility.  In honor of mothers everywhere, I’d like to share these words about mothers that was published last year on MomsLA.com

Click here to read “The A to Z List of a Mom’s Jobs.”