I Am

 

In late July, with Taggart headed to Rhode Island on a school trip, I decided to see if there was an enrichment “camp” I could talk Sage into that would: a.) give me a few very-much-needed hours each day to get a few things done, and b.) give her some fun activities and educational fortification as she gets ready to jump into 2^nd grade in a few weeks.   Given that her favorite 1^st grade teacher was leading the two “camps” I was trying to sell her on – a Writer’s Workshop and Math Fact Frivolities - I pretty much knew it would be a shoo-in. 

 Off she went to her two little camps and off I’d go to exercise, grocery shop, and cram some vacuuming or watering or laundry in.  And at 2 p.m. each afternoon, I couldn’t wait to hear what she did and how her day was.  She would inevitably say the writing camp was boring though she is very creative and loves to write songs and stories at home.  Hmmmm.  The math camp?  Two big thumbs up . . . double hmmmmmm.  She’s never loved math and always loved writing.  Digging into this conundrum I learned two things: in math camp they played games and did “easy” math; I’d like that too! In the writing class, she had to use her noggin, get quiet, think about things that had happened in her little, lovely 7-year-old life so far, and write about those.

The first “essay” that came home was called “How I Got My Gash”, the story of a traumatic hayride accident last Thanksgiving when her leg got crushed between the trailer we were on and a hackberry tree.  And when I say traumatic I mean just typing this makes my stomach clench and my breath catch . . . it is the scariest thing as a parent I have experienced thus far. She has never wanted to discuss the accident and when it has been brought up, she says she can’t talk about it.  And though she is perfectly fine now and her calf has only a large scar the size of a tennis ball to show for the experience, I didn’t know what indelible marks might have been made on the inside.  So the fact that she put her story down on paper and wrote about it: priceless. Fine by me that she only wanted her teacher see it but didn’t want to share with her campmates, I could finally see her processing her experience – actually have tangible evidence of it - and it thrilled me (as her mom and as a trained counselor).  When all else fails, writing has never disappointed. Has always been there for me.  Maybe my sweet girl gets that too. It makes my heart happy.

So then, on the last day of camp, when I asked “So what’d you do today?” and she replied “Nothin’ really”, I wasn’t at all surprised when she handed me some crumpled papers and I came across a poem she had written that very day.  And it was so much better than “Nothin’ really”!  Following a template her teacher gave her, Sage’s poem went like this:

“I Am”

I am a loving, pretty 2^nd grader

I wonder how tall God is

I hear kids yelling

I see 5 dogs

I am a loving, pretty 2^nd grader

I pretend to be a teacher

I feel a rainbow coming

I touch a tree

I worry about my house on fire

I cry about my Grandma being lonely

I am a loving, pretty 2^nd grader

I understand that T-Rexes were real

I say that nothing is impossible

I dream that I could meet a star

I try to win cross country

I hope I get to eat soon

I am a loving, pretty 2^nd grader

Can I just say, I love this girl of mine? Oh, but I do love her.  Every inch, wart, crevice, crease, cell. So inspired was I by her honest, sweet little poem, I decided to give my own “I Am” a shot. Surprisingly, the hardest line, the one I struggled with for days and had at least twenty different answers to: “I hope . . . “.  (Note sweet Sage’s above.  Written right before lunch, I’m pretty sure she didn’t toil long over her big hope!). It wasn’t easy, boiling down what I am in this moment in time, in this chapter of my life, to a 17 line poem (4 lines of which are redundant, but who’s counting??).  Nonetheless, it was a worthy exercise, shedding light on how we see ourselves and how we want to be seen, what we value, and what we love - I highly recommend it!

“I Am”

I am a divine and pure expression of light and love

I wonder what gifts my children will share with the world

I hear the angels’ sweet laughter

I see my truest self reflected back to me in the eyes of those I trust

I want to leave my own indelible mark on the world

I am a divine and pure expression of light and love

I pretend to not be scared about death and dying

I feel safe in a cathedral of trees

I touch God when I breathe deep and get still

I worry about not accomplishing what I came here to do

I cry when I feel disconnected and forget my own truth

I am a divine and pure expression of light and love

I understand we are all connected by ribbons of energy

I say I am a recovering perfectionist

I dream a world of peace, joy, and enough

I try for balance and moderation in all things

I hope I can always be small enough to believe and big enough to forgive

I am a divine and pure expression of light and love