teacher, teach her

Teacher.

I left teacher off my many Me's list. Humph.

This is important for so many reasons.

I mean, for heaven's sake,  I teach every day. I teach strangers, acquaintances, friends, myself, my offspring, sometimes I even teach my husband. 

I am a teacher not by education but avocation and for my day job. Although educating the masses is a family trait, I just didn't think or know I was cut out for the job. Apparently, I was mistaken.

 
My humble attempt at the role of teacher is the reason this blog is called yes sir, mama. A very petite being reinforced what her big brother has been trying to teach me. She taught and is still teaching me to not take myself so seriously.

The husband and I, as our children's first educators, have tried to instill manners in our small ones. Our oldest understood the niceties of please, thank you, no thank you, yes, sir/yes, ma'am, etc. Our youngest could dig the Yes, Sir/Ma'am thing but ma'am is so close to mama that 'Yes sir, Mama' was the best she could muster. Now, my husband, being a stickler for accuracy would correct our Little Miss every time she contracted and contorted Yes, Ma'am into Yes sir, Mama.  I would correct her too, but found this gaff in vocabulary completely and extraordinarily endearing. And let's face it, like her brother, Little Miss is pretty doggone endearing anyway. I got swept up by those big eyes hanging on my every word while seeking validation. My correcting her involved 'sternly' admonishing her usage and then turning around to giggle out of eye shot. I mean, really, it was so darn funny.  

I figured with a little coaching and time Little Miss would grow out of this phase as she marched proudly on to the path of linguistic accuracy. I also knew when the day arrived that she understood the correct usage of Yes, sir and Yes, ma'am I would forever lose that lovely little bit of her first steps from Toddlerdom to PreKopolis.  Of course I was correct about her grasp of the usage. She resides quite happily in PreKopolis ready to leap to the next town and has since forgotten 'Yes sir, Mama.'  

I'm glad I jotted down this Little Miss-ism for posterity. I'm not a journaler. (Well, I wasn't one until 5 years ago and officially not until yesterday.) I thought about blogging for a long time but wasn't sure if this medium was for me. If it was, what would the clever title hook be? So jotting this Little Miss-ism for posterity not only preserved that bit of her for as long as possible  but also gave birth to this blog's title. 

Radish Harvest

This face has taught/reminded me that life is simple when we don't try to complicate it. Duh! The Little Miss is a Teacher Teach Her. 

Don't get so caught up in the details that you forget what makes each moment in time special.  I guess I should add student to the aforementioned list of Me's.

Until the next time...

hothouse posey

...and so it continues

If you told me that I would join the blogosphere, I would have said," No, not me."

...but here I am.

I am a girl, a woman, a daughter, a sister, a wife, a mama*, a friend, an artist. None of these personalities is greater than the other, although I have to admit I haven't always given each their due and proper attention at all times.

So many people am I that I'm not sure which to be at any given time. At the very least, I am attempting to be three of these ladies in the same moment and space. Whichever of these women I seem to be in tandem we are all journeying to the same far off place. The journey we are on is one of lost and found (or at least finding). As with many people my age or any age, for that matter, I've experienced my gamut of loss.
         
            Loss of innocence
            Loss of faith- in God, in self, in love
            Loss of a parent
            Loss of a child before formal introductions
            Loss of my way
            Loss of my fearlessness
            Loss of friendships

The loss of these people and things was certainly not searched out or wanted. I surely didn't set out to lose them. I do know that loss is an inextricable part of life. Knowing doesn't make the losses any less painful.

There are things I want to lose. You know the usual suspects-

            weight
            self doubt
            the nagging ache in my lower back
            useless people
            my obsession with the past--- (and not in the
            grand fashion that creates great art)

I am rambling and you've lost interest. Before you turn away let me tell you about the found/finding portion of this journey. The following list is not finite. After all,  this is a continuing trip.

I've found the undeniably soul-encompassing joy of seeing my children's smiles first thing in the morning.

I'm finding delight in doing jumping jacks with my six year old ... and believe me that is not an exercise I've done much of in the past couple of decades.

I'm finding solace in the clutter created by new artistic passions.

I'm finding love, again and again and again and again and again...

I've found lasting friendships with kindred spirits.

I've recognized 4 milestones in my life as moments of birth/rebirth. As I travel this long and meandering road, I am certain I will discover other moments, literal and figurative, of birth and rebirth.

This day is one of those milestones. Today is the day I choose to accelerate onto the on-ramp to the highway of my life.  On this day, six years ago, we welcomed an eight pound 15 ounce bundle of rambunctious joy into our world. A Me, I barely recall now, was replaced with a sappy, sentimental, love-struck, mama in love with tiny feet.

Happy Birthday my sweet, funny, all-at-once-cuddly-adorable-huggable-exasperating-smart-insightful-bundle-of-crazy-Son. You are one of the reasons I take this leap of faith on a journey of uncertainty in search of freedom. In search of Me.

'Who is this?' you're asking. My name is Ndidi

         a girl
         a woman
         a daughter
         a sister
         a wife
         a mama
         a friend
         an artist
         a hothouse posey.

I and my many selves are working on being the artist God intended us to be. As our journey continues, follow the purpose-filled wandering and occasional head-in-the-clouds meandering. Me, myself and I (& I & I & I & I & I) will discover just what makes us tick.

I hope you will come along for the ride.


*the sound of mommy is the equivalent of Joan Crawford and Chucky each chasing me down for a deadly hug.