Dear Brad Pitt...

 

Today my Facebook page blew up with comments about Brad Pitt’s love letter to Angelina Jolie.  Everyone really, really, REALLY loved it.  Except me.  This letter left me sweating in discomfort.  First of all, is this letter even real?  Did he really write it?  Here is a link to the letter in case you have not read it yet:

http://couplesandco.blogspot.se/2013/12/i-lost-hope-and-thought-that-well-get.html

Let’s pretend he wrote the letter.  Also, let’s pretend someday he wants to marry me. I do not want to marry him, though I would love access to his full time nannies, chefs, and choose your own adventure vacation homes.  I love Chris Jackson.  But we are pretending.  And since we are pretending, here is all Brad Pitt needs to know to keep me happy.

Dear Brad Pitt,

1.      You do not need “to pamper me with flowers, kisses and compliments.” Indulgence for me these days is a hot meal.  Do you remember that one time in “Ocean’s 11” when you got to eat all those delicious nutrients in Las Vegas?  Your character, Rusty, did a lot of snacking and meal eating. I want to sit at a table without having to: a) get up to fetch more ketchup, milk, strawberries, and/or cheese sticks b) ask the question, “what do you say after you burp?” c) referee a disagreement d) answer questions about human body functions and/or anatomy e) use the words, “please come back to the table and have ONE bite of food.”

2.    You “gave Angelina lots of gifts and lived just for her.”  The only gift you need to give me is the gift that keeps on giving.  The. Gift. Of. Sleep.  Do you remember that one time when you did the movie “The Curious Case of Benjamin Button” and you were born as an elderly man and then you grew into a baby?  Didn’t you just love sleeping like a baby?  I want to sleep like a baby too. I’m talking 8-12 hours of uninterrupted bliss in stage 5 of the sleep cycle.  Take me to the land of Rapid Eye Movement dreamland.

 

3.   You “incorporated all themes in her direction.”  I do not even know what this means.  However, I love themes.  Specifically, themes in books and literature.  It’s been a long time, Brad, since I’ve been able to sit and read a good book.  Do you remember that one time in “Burn After Reading” when you pretended to be Chad the personal trainer who believed he discovered government information?  I do not think Chad enjoyed reading very much in that movie.  However, I love to read all sorts of glorious works of fiction and non-fiction.   So throw some of those themes my way and let me read and read and read and read and read.

4.      You “praised her in front of her own and our mutual friends.”  I’m going to go out on a limb here and betcha that when you praised her she was wearing clean clothes.  I recall in “Legends of the Fall” your character Tristan…was very fun to look at on the big screen.  But I digress, I don’t need praise.  I need a laundress.  Someone to tackle the pile of laundry the size of Mt. Rushmore.  Someone to collect it, sort it, wash it, dry it, fold it, and put it away.  That would be awesome.  That would keep my mental health in check in a BIG way.

Please feel free to contact me, Brad Pitt, with any additional questions about things that make me happy.

Love,

Amy Elizabeth Nichols Jackson

It’s a good thing I’m married to Chris Jackson.  That guy makes me happy.

 

I AM JEALOUS OF YOU

I’m super thankful Al Gore invented the World Wide Web.  I am thankful for the WWW because without it, Mark Zuckerberg would not have invented Facebook. Some people want to stay off the grid.  I am not one of those people (yet).  I love Facebook.  As someone who has moved 14 times in 38 years, it has allowed me to stay connected with friends I have left behind geographically.  For example, I found my very first best friend from Charlottesville, VA on Facebook.  We met in kindergarten.  Our mothers taught school together.  She is a brilliant photographer in New Mexico now.  This makes me happy.

But I must confess; Facebook does not always bring out the best in me.  I have found my skeletal system growing more and more jealous bones.  It’s not something I’m proud to admit.

So, last week when I overheard two mothers discussing the concept of jealousy, I had to tune my eavesdropping ears into the conversation.  They were not discussing Facebook though.  They were discussing, “How do you help your children deal with jealous feelings?”  One of the mothers had read, somewhere, the strategy of teaching children how to make “statements of jealousy.”  She thinks it works.  She believes it has helped her daughter share her feelings and work toward self-acceptance. 

I’m going to try it.  Here I go. I made a list of things that make me jealous on Facebook.

1) Status update:  YAHOO!  Couldn’t be happier that the University of Awesomeness just defeated our rivals 954 to 6!

Statement of jealousy:  Sportsmanship is not one of my strengths.  I can only feel happy when the Texas Aggies, Vanderbilt Commodores, or MTSU Blue Raiders win.  I want no other teams to experience victory.  If Alabama plays LSU, I want both teams to suffer defeat. It could be football, basketball, NCAA Women or NCAA Men.  Or, it could be a United Nations simulation.  When your team wins, I feel jealous.

 

2) Status update:  Check out this nutritious and delicious meal I prepared in just under 6 hours.

Statement of jealousy:  I feel like a champ when I microwave organic chicken nuggets.  When you post pictures of the healthy meals you are preparing for your family from scratch using organic vegetables you grew in your garden with meat you cut from an organic cow, I feel jealous.

 

3) Status update:  Enjoying a super fun night out with my closest gal pals!

Statement of jealousy:  I don’t care if I haven’t seen you in 25 years. When you order food from a menu that someone else prepares for you and you don’t have to jump up 17 times to refill milk and/or cut up more strawberries and no one tries to steal food off your plate while you enjoy adult conversation and company, I feel jealous of you.

 

4) Status update:  Just finished my morning run!  Only ran 19 this morning!  Got my long run scheduled for this weekend!  May or may not make it to yoga after my boot camp class!

Statement of jealousy:  I want to be a super awesome exerciser and fitness person.  However, I am not.  When you burn 10,000 calories or complete an intense isometrics and/or bodybuilding session, I feel jealous.

5) Status update:  Baby Moonbeam just read her first Hunger Games novel!  I can’t believe she’ll finish the trilogy before her fourth birthday!  Maybe we can convince her to put down her algebra textbook long enough to analyze her wheat samples under the electron microscope!

Statement of jealousy:  I want all children to achieve success to the best of their potential.  When your kid reads War and Peace on her second birthday or counts to 1 million while he waits for his salad to arrive at the dinner table while The Trifecta run around in their underwear and build forts out of couch cushions, I feel like I gave birth to Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn.  And that makes me jealous.  But happy for you.

 

6) Status update:  Hubby and I having such a super great time together on our vacation to sunny Detroit!

Statement of jealousy:  I totally own the fact that Chris Jackson and I have not been away from The Trifecta overnight since they were born.  Chalk it up to the fact that I can’t stand vertically, form a complete sentence, or function properly by the time we tuck their precious bodies into bed at night.  If I can barely make it, and I’m their mama, I don’t feel right asking someone else to live the dream.  When you go on vacation with your spouse/partner/sugar-mama/boy-toy, I feel jealous.

 

7) Status update:  Check it out!  Baby on the way!  Thor barely breathed on me and I’m pregnant!

Statement of jealousy:  I want to live in a permanent state of pregnancy and have at least 20 children.  This has not and will not happen for reasons both divine and logical.  When you get pregnant, I feel a little jealous…but sincerely over joyed for you too.

So now I’ve done it.  I’ve confessed my jealous feelings.  I hope you still want to be my friend. 

Brave Friend Beats Cancer

 

I have a friend that I love very much. 

In the fall of 1994 divine intervention placed us in the same pledge class in the same sorority at Texas A&M University. She took some stalking and convincing when she first met me, but eventually she came around and we became more than just sorority sisters, we became friends.  The real kind and the true kind.

She’s the kind of friend that turns life in the sorority house into a comedic adventure. 

She’s the forgiver of flaws, including the time at the age of 19 when you ditched your sorority sisters on Big Event day to paint a house with the Sigma Chis because the boy you had a crush on at the time said, “Hey, you want to paint a house with us?” 

She exchanges the same, “are we allowed to think the offensive and inappropriate content of this movie is funny?” glances during There’s Something About Mary.

She flashes you at the top of the stairs during rush because she realizes rush chair won’t be the most important job you’ll ever have and she wants you to lighten up and smile before you open those big double doors. 

She’s your roommate. 

She’s the keeper of all secrets that begin with the words, “I can’t tell anyone else but you…”

She stands next to you on your wedding day.

She visits you in your new house even though it is far away.

She walks the road of infertility with you and compares drug induced hot flashes.  She selflessly worries when she tells you she is pregnant and you are not.

She’s the guardian and protector of your darkest and most shameful places.

And so, when her husband calls you in March and says, “Christy asked me to call you.  She has Stage 3 colorectal cancer.   But it’s going to be ok.” You panic.  Not the small kind of panic, the big kind of panic that moves from the top of your head to your toes in the blink of an eye. 

And so you “Google” the words “stage 3 colon cancer.”

You learn about all the places her cancer may or may not have spread.  You read about blood tests and biopsies and wonder whether she’ll have a CT scan or a PET scan. 

You want to send her a text every hour to remind her to rest and eat right and you want to ask her “are you ok?” at least 10 times a day.

You want to call her doctors and get a list of their qualifications as health professionals including where they went to undergraduate school, medical school, completed residency, as well as a list of professional post graduate coursework.

You want to remind the doctors to get plenty of sleep and to eat a good breakfast before they see her because they have to be at their BEST on those days.

You want to explain to all the doctors and nurses and people in the hospital who see her that she has absolutely the most wonderful sense of humor and you want to ask them to make her laugh.  A real laugh, not a fake polite laugh.

You want to threaten everyone who comes in contact with her during radiation and chemo to be kind and gentle with her or they will be sorry.

You read about treatment options and survival rates.

You pray.  You ask God to stop the cancer from spreading to her serosa, her nearby organs, her lymph nodes, and anywhere…please don’t let the cancer spread anywhere.

You pray for her two precious children and her loving husband.

You know she will beat this cancer because, well, she has to beat this cancer.

And so, when she tells you on Wednesday, November 5 she will get her pump out and be finished with chemotherapy, you send up all your prayers of thanksgiving and praise to the almighty God who healed her.  Because He is good, always.

And you feel so proud of her for being so brave.

 

 

Homework Help

I’m doomed.  Not a little doomed.  Alotta doomed.  Because you see, I do not think I can help my children with homework.

I have a degree in Elementary Education.  I have a Master’s degree in Gifted Education.  I taught children for over 10 years.  So, I should have “the skillz,” right?  No. No, I do not have the skills.

Our precious and perfect preschool sent home some worksheets last week.  They are completely age appropriate and wonderful.  I thought The Trifecta would blow a gasket of excitement when they saw them.  They did not.

So, last week I fought the power.  We didn’t complete the worksheets.  I put them in a special stack.  For “later.” 

Today, I opened their take home folders to find a “letter F” handwriting sheet.  I know this is totally suitable as most of the children in The Trifecta’s class are already writing their letters like total champions.  We’re a little behind the curve.   I sent a trusted and dear soul sister (you know I’m talking about you, Lexie Harding) a “911” text message:  Are these worksheets homework?  Do we have to return them to school?  Are you doing them?

I just knew she would tell me she was using them as a coloring sheet and then I would be safe.  But instead she replied:  You don’t have to return them.  I’m doing them for kindergarten prep.

I cursed inside my brain.  “Girls!” I exclaimed, “Look!  Homework!  I’m so excited!  Let’s practice the letter F together!” 

Baby A came obediently to the table.  Baby B continued to jump from sofa cushion to sofa cushion in her underwear.  She was chanting something about yoga.  She totally didn’t even hear me.  Baby C looked me dead in the eyes.  “Mommy,” she said, “I am NOT doing homework.” 

No problem.  I have a Master’s degree.  I know how to do this.  I’ll start with the child who is eager to complete the work.  Baby A.  Then I will snap Baby B out of her self-induced imaginative coma.  She’ll like it once we get started.  I’ll conclude with Baby C.  It might take some bribing, but she’ll do it.

I sat down with Baby A.  20 minutes later we finished.  I was sweating.  I also think I threw up in my mouth a little. So that is when I gave up for the day.   Babies B and C will not succeed in life and probably have to live with us forever.  But 33.3333% is not a terrible rate of return. 

How do you people do it out there?  How do you keep from having a nervous breakdown during homework time?  Why do they have to grow up and do all this hard stuff?  Can’t they just stay little and jump on sofa cushions in their underwear? 

So that is when I decided; we are moving to the mountains, we will raise goats, we will plant corn, and also we will make our own soap. 

 

Summer List

At the beginning of the summer I made a list of things to accomplish with The Trifecta.  Because I love lists and I love to cross things off lists.  Crossing things off of lists feels awesome.  I will share my list with you:
1)    Provide The Trifecta with the opportunity to practice writing names each morning using a variety of modalities.
2)    Practice letter-sound correspondence with The Trifecta daily.
3)    Practice number names and counting in sequence with The Trifecta daily.
4)    Sign The Trifecta up for swimming lessons.

Now that summer vacation nears its end, I will share what I actually accomplished on my list:

1)    Instead of working with The Trifecta on learning to write their names, the trio ran around in their underwear, daily, sometimes in the yard.

2)    Rather than practice letter-sound correspondence, The Trifecta toured The Tweetsie Railroad no less than 20 days.  During this time, the girls heard cowboys refer to Native Americans as “Indians,” took four photographs in which they wore can-can girl and/or Native American and/or cowboy costumes postured in bar while ingesting sprite, popcorn, ice cream, French fries, and cotton candy.

3)    I failed to spend time working with The Trifecta on learning number names and counting in sequence.  However, we constructed a boat load of block trains and castles using the manipulatives I purchased to practice stated skill.  Manipulatives also doubled as weapons. I stepped on the manipulative minefield no less than a dozen times introducing Trifecta to a new language called “cussing up a storm.”

4)    Swim lessons?  Nope.  Apparently it’s not effective to wait until June to contact swim instructors.  Schedules fill up by March.  We did spend a lot of time jumping off the side of the pool screaming words like, “GAS PUPPET!” and “MONKEY POOP!”

Yep, that’s what I have to show for myself as a stay at home parent with a Master’s Degree in Gifted Education.

During my time as a classroom teacher, I took it upon myself to educate parents on the importance of continuing the practice of reading, writing, and arithmeticing throughout the summer.  I would conclude the spring conference with a little something like, “I have really enjoyed having Rainbow Bright in my class this year. Please make sure you continue to read, write, and arithmetic over the summer.  Research states that if you fail to practice such skills over summer vacation with your child, her head will deflate and her brain will be broken.”  I always gave those free spirited parents a little extra something like, “I’m serious.  Seriously, I mean it.”

What have I learned from this experience?  Don’t make serious lists.  Make fun lists.

Police Intervention

 

Somehow I failed to process the memo that tax free weekend began today.  Otherwise, I would have happily returned home after working out at the gym this morning.  Instead, I pulled The Trifecta across the Target parking lot and elbowed another mother to secure the cart that has the two seats in front rather than just the one standard seat inside the cart.  I had an advantage over the other mother because she had an infant in her arms. 

I managed to fill my cart with the items on my shopping list: two storage tubs, Greenworks spray, Murphy’s hand soap, naproxen, paper plates, and baby shampoo.  I also managed to secure three pair of pink glitter shoes (not originally on my list).  It was time to make the final purchases of the day:  birthday gifts for a friend of The Trifecta.  I pushed the cart through the toy aisles in search of gifts that the friend would enjoy without pushing his parents to the brink of insanity. 

Baby A (pointing to bizarre gothic/hoochie dress up outfit for child):  Mommy, I want that dress for dress up time.

Me:   I don’t think that dress is the kind of outfit I want you to play in (replied the mother who allowed her children to play “dress up” in can-can girl outfits in bar setting at The Tweetsie Railroad).

Baby A:  I want it.

Me:  I understand you want it, but I my answer is “no.”

Baby A launched into a tantrum so insane that she catapulted her body out of the cart seat and threw herself onto the floor.  Her screams were so loud and filled with crazy that other parents stopped to watch the train wreck.  Because that’s how parents support other parents in this type of situation, right?

Me:  Let’s go girls.  We are leaving the store.

Disclaimer - I don’t mean this when the words leave my mouth.  It is simply a threat tactic I used in the hopes the tantruming member of The Trifecta would stabilize so that I could check out with the items in my shopping cart. 

Baby A:  NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!! I WANT THE DRESS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! BUY IT FOR ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I WANT IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! AHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Perhaps it was the combination of glass shattering screams and the threat of bodily harm to Baby A that made me do it.  I can’t tell you for sure.  But, I picked up Baby A and started my walk of shame out of the store.  Babies B and C followed with tears and screams. 

Baby A kicked me in the face.  Baby A attempted to wiggle free from my death grip.  Baby A almost cracked her head open on the hard floor.  Baby A continued to yell, scream, tantrum, squeal, squawk, and howl.  Patrons of Target stared.

I made it to the parking lot. 

A police officer approached me.  A normal person might not find delight in this situation.  I rejoiced.  For years I have been threating The Trifecta with police involvement and intervention in tantrums, potty-talk, and refusal to nap.  Today, the police were here. 

Officer:  Is everything ok, ma’am?

Me:  No, sir.  My daughter had a tantrum in the store. Children go to jail for tantrums, isn’t that right officer? (I gave him my best secret smile, smile, wink, wink.)

Officer (clearly shocked):  No ma’am!  We don’t put children in jail for tantrums!

Me (silently cursing police officer in my head and wanting to punch him in the throat):  Thank you for your help. We’re going to go home now.

The police officer watched me load The Trifecta into the car.  He watched me drive away.  I feel 96% certain that my license and vehicle make and model have been entered into some sort of database for police observation.

At this point, any respectable blogger would offer some sort of advice; some kind of lesson; a quote from a psychologically balanced parenting study; a Bible verse.

I’ve got nothing. I’ll be rocking myself in cradle position in a dark closet if you need me.

Have a great day, y’all.

Mommy Movie Moments

I have a new best friend and her name is Mindy Lahiri from Fox’s “The Mindy Project.”  On the surface we do not have a lot in common.  Mindy is an attractive Indian (South Asian American) woman living the single life in the big city.  I am a disheveled, married, Caucasian Southerner raising triplets.  We have one soul binding characteristic: we both love movies.  Mindy searches Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan films for love advice.  I have a mental file full of "Mommy Movie Moments" that I access when I need guidance in all things motherhood.  So on this Mother's Day 2013, I share with you those silver screen selections that keep me from pulling all my eyelashes out.

(1) Aurora Greenway,  Terms of Endearment:  I believe in pharmaceuticals.  If a member of The Trifecta is suffering from an ailment that can be cured with a drug, I want it.  I'm not interested in what nature may or may not heal in time.  Sometimes doctors say things to me like, "It doesn't look like an infection," or "It must be a virus."  These are not words that ring well with me.  Because when my little ladies are suffering, I WANT TO MAKE IT BETTER.   That is when I transform into Aurora Greenway from “Terms of Endearment.” If you are not familiar with the fabulous Mrs. Greenway, please watch the clip below. And also try to picture my face on Shirley MacLaine’s head screaming, “GIVE MY DAUGHTER AN ANTIBIOTIC!” I love Aurora's character for many reasons in this moving picture, but mostly because of her total willingness to unleash her inner crazy in order to stop her daughter's pain.

http://youtu.be/A1AIroyiLEM

(2) Mrs. Parker, The Christmas Story:  When I need patience and a glassy eyed acceptance in order to dull the chaos in my household I play Mrs. Parker from, “The Christmas Story.”  Because that lady laughs and remains emotionally unabridged even when her son consumes his dinner like a “piggy in a trough.”  Mary Ellis loves to slather her body in tempura paint from head to toe.  She has an addiction to showers and she knows I cannot refuse her if she is covered in Crayola colors.  Instead of crying, screaming, and running from our house I just find my Mrs. Parker voice. 

http://www.tcm.com/mediaroom/video/62365/Christmas-Story-A-Movie-Clip-Mommy-s-Little-Piggy-.html

(3) M'Lynn Eatenton, Steel Magnolias:  If you know me, you know I love me some Steel Magnolias.  It is my favorite movie of all time ever made in the history of all screenplays.  Sally Field's character, M'Lynn is the epitome of all Southern Mamas.  I think one of the reasons I love her is because she reminds me so much of my own Mommy; as delicate as a magnolia and as strong as steel.  I relate to M'Lynn because of her control issues.  Throughout the story she's as solid as a rock.  Host a picture perfect wedding in her home?  She's the hostess with the mostess.  Daughter needs a kidney?  She's got one to give!  I have not had the need to access my inner M'Lynn yet.  However, I have three little girls with the big personalities.  The day will come.  And when it does I'm going to say, "Cooperate, please."

http://movieclips.com/LAcr-steel-magnolias-movie-too-much-insulin/

(4) Professor (Minerva) McGonagall, Harry Potter: I know, I know, Professor McGonagall did not have children.  Technically.  I look at her as the mother to many.  All those little witches and wizards living at Hogwarts.  I need a little more McGonagall in my Mamahood.  I need her fairness and her sterness.  I need her courage.  Also, it would be awesome if I had a magic wand that I could wave around my house and say things like, "Clean my house!"  and "Stop that tantrum!"  and "Fall asleep!" and "Shower my body and blow dry my hair and put make-up on my face!"

(5) Edwina, Raising Arizona:  I am not a police officer and Chris Jackson does not have a criminal record.  But we there was a time when I didn't think we would be able to have children.  And I wanted to steal one.  I really, really wanted to steal one.  But I didn't.  At the time I wanted to steal a baby, this movie gave me the hope that I would someday have a family of my own.  At the end of the movie Edwina's husband H.I., played by Nicholas Cage, has a dream.  He dreams of a baby that they someday adopt.  At the end of his dream sequence he says, " It seemed like us and it seemed like, well, our home. If not Arizona, then a land not too far away. This whole dream.  Was it wishful thinking?  Where all parents are strong and wise and capable and all children are happy and beloved." 

Maybe that's why I love motherhood in motion pictures.  Because I want a world where all parents are strong and wise and all children are happy and beloved.

Happy Mother's Day, y'all. 

 

 

The Lottery

 

Chris Jackson and I have a favorite game called, “When We Win the Lottery.”  I will teach you how to play.

Chris:  Did you know the lottery is up to 37 zillion dollars this week?

Me:  No.  Did you buy a ticket?

Chris:  Not yet.  We will take the cash option.  After taxes we will be left with roughly 6 million dollars. 

Me:  6 million?  Wow!  What do you want to do with all that money?

Chris:  I will continue working for insurance benefits and because I enjoy my job.  I don’t think we need to buy a new house or anything.  Maybe a new car?  We will set up trusts for the girls.  Give a large portion to the church in a trust.  We will put the rest in a mutual fund or some other investment vehicle.

Me:  Sounds good to me. 

But I just told my precious husband a lie.  Financial responsibility pulsates through his veins and breathes life into his non-materialistic lungs.  He means every word he just said and I love him for it. 

However, I have made other plans for this money. 

1.       Live-In Super Nanny.  Think sober companion for a mother of four year old triplets.  Super Nanny will be required to stay by my side all hours of the day and sleep in a cot by my bed at night.  This will give me the freedom to pick and choose which tantrums, melt-downs, explosions of crazy, fist fights, scratch combats, and verbal prizefights to facilitate using my outstanding parenting abilities.  When exhaustion kicks in (at approximately 8:43 am), I will allow Super Nanny to take care of the character building.  Clearly Super Nanny has what it takes to raise The Trifecta into the prison free citizens I hope them to be.  Nothing will bring me more joy than to someday reply to the question, “What are your girls doing now?” with the answer, “They are not serial killers.”

2.      Clutter Picker Uppers. Visualize the Tennis Ball Boys at Wimbledon.   Much like Super Nanny, Clutter Picker Uppers, or CPU’s, will work from sunrise to sunset.  They will wear clothes and face paint that camouflages their existence into the walls of our home.  Once a toy, book, stuffed animal, article of clothing, shoe, or piece of food hits the floor, they are required to move faster than a speeding bullet across the room, sweeping up dropped item and returning it to the designated area.  I understand that this may require some stunt moves.  That’s fine.  Now that I think of it, in addition to speed and willingness to wear “Everyday Khaki” paint color from the Sherwin Williams collection, CPU’s should probably know how to perform a back hand spring and corkscrew air spin. 

3.      Car Robot.   A robotic engineer will construct an android to assist me in all things involving the car and triplets.  Car robot loads The Trifecta into their car seats.  This may involve temporarily stunning them (there are a lot of melt downs seconds before we have to leave the house) inside the house before carrying them to the garage.  If a fight breaks out over who has to ride in the middle car seat, Car Robot manages the situation.   Well, now that I think of it that may or may not fall under the responsibilities of Super Nanny.  I’m not giving up on this dream.  I’m getting a Car Robot.

I also may or may not have plans to cover every square inch of our home in Lilly Pulitzer fabric.

A Legacy of Lessons

I met Dr. John Hoyle in the spring of 1998.  He and his wife, Carolyn, agreed to escort twelve naïve females from the Texas A&M College of Education to our summer study abroad program in Italy.  Prior to our expedition, we met with Dr. Hoyle each week to learn about Italian culture and to discuss the “need to knows” of our upcoming study program.  At that time I did not know the important role he would play in my life or how much I would grow to love him and sweet Carolyn. 

 Dad and Mom Hoyle in Venice

Our summer in Italy provided adventure, escape, and amazing opportunities for exploring another culture.  It also created a little Italian-American Aggie family.  By the end of our journey Dr. and Mrs. Hoyle became Mom and Dad Hoyle and forever secured a place in my heart.

Dr. John Hoyle died on Tuesday, March 12 from complications of leukemia. The impact he left behind is wide and great.  I have struggled with his death.  I have been working on this blog post since I learned of his passing.  I want to share some of his goodness with you.  So, after sifting through my memories and my journal, I have compiled and transcribed five of the many lessons I learned from Dad Hoyle that summer in Italy.

Lesson #1:  For our first assignment Dad Hoyle challenged us to write about our lives fifteen years into the future.  He titled the project our, “future scenario.” When outlining our instructions he noted that our future scenario had to paint a positive picture of our lives because we were all amazing people.  He said that when we look in the mirror we may not like all that we see but we should be pleased with most of it.  Little came true from my future scenario paper I wrote fifteen years ago.  I did not earn a law degree.  I did not open a charter school.  I can, however, continue to apply those instructions from Dad Hoyle each day when I wake up and assess the dark circles, crow’s feet, and smile lines.  No one likes the wrinkles and the grey hairs.  There are even some things about my insides that I don’t like.  But I should be pleased with most of it.  And so should you.

 A Father's Day Celebration for Dad Hoyle

 

Lesson #2:  The corridor that leads into Michelangelo’s David holds the four, fantastic, Unfinished Slaves.  “The slaves” are some of Michelangelo’s partial works and they are trapped in their stone.  We stood there gazing upon the cold, hard, unfinished rock.  Dad Hoyle broke our silence, “These statues may also represent how some children feel about learning.  Trapped!  It is up to us as educators to free those children.”  During my ten years in education I came across dozens and dozens of children who appeared ensnared in their minds, in their learning, and in their processing.  Intelligent, capable, even gifted children; square little pegs that did not fit into the round holes of institutionalized learning.  And now I have my own little work of art who sometimes seems trapped in her mind and it is up to me to do all  I can to free her.

Lesson #3:  Dr. Hoyle instructed, “Never build hurdles in your mind, because the hurdles on the track are much smaller than the hurdles in the mind.”  What are your hurdles? I feel like I spend my whole day jumping over hurdles.  Sometimes I can even visualize them in front of me.  Some hurdles are taller than others.  For example, the “how am I going to get them dressed and out the door” hurdle is slightly higher than the “what are we going to eat for dinner hurdle,” because usually we order out and the girls have chicken nuggets or PB&J.  Anyway, I try to keep Dr. Hoyle’s advice in my mind at all times.  And it helps.

Lesson #4:  At the end of our study abroad Dr. Hoyle gave each of us a clear marble.  He told us that the marble represented a crystal ball.  He said, “You are all exceptional people.  During your life, when times get rough, when you get kicked around, look into the crystal ball, think good thoughts, and know that things will get better.”  I still get emotional when I think about his “you are returning to the real world and soon you will have to be grown-ups” address.  From challenges in teaching and graduate school to the pain of infertility – it all got better.  If you are going through a difficult time now I encourage you to find a clear marble, look inside it, think good thoughts, say a prayer, and tell yourself, “things will get better.”

 Me.  Crying. After Dad Hoyle gave us a crystal ball.

Lesson #5:  “Three Coins in the Fountain” is a 1954 romantic comedy.  In the film, three American women dream of finding love while working in the city of Rome.  Dad Hoyle sang the lyrics to the theme song throughout our trip. 

Click on the link below to listen to the song.  You will like it, I promise.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8YxRNdgY5vg

Three coins in the fountain,
Each one seeking happiness.
Thrown by three hopeful lovers,
Which one will the fountain bless?

Three hearts in the fountain,
Each heart longing for its home.
There they lie in the fountain,
Somewhere in the heart of Rome.

 Amy in the fountain

Our little Italian Aggie family found love during that summer.  Not romantic love. I love my Italian sisters and my Italian parents more today than I did fifteen years ago.  I think they will all agree that we have experienced blissful blessings following our coin throwing ritual into the Trevi Fountain. 

There is not another soul like Dr. John Hoyle’s on this wide and wonderful planet.  Maybe that is why I felt so sad when I learned of his death?  In my heart I wanted him here spreading laughter and happiness and Aggie spirit. I wanted his GOODNESS here with me.  But that is my own selfishness.  I cannot imagine the party that took place when Dad Hoyle arrived in heaven.  I cannot imagine the line of people who waited in line to embrace him and welcome him into God’s kingdom. 

For now, I will keep his lessons in my heart.  Until I see him again.  I hope he’s singing “Three Coins in the Fountain” when he hugs me in heaven.