So, after a Monday hypochondriac episode of "My eyes aren't getting any better!" and the ophthalmologist declaring, "Yes they are! Don't come back!", I've finally finished my week long punishment of wearing glasses and got to put my contacts in this morning. So far, so good.
Everyone says the glasses are cute, but for me they are a bitter reminder of a geeky youth where nothing seemed right until the magical day we had a garage sale and I had enough money to buy my own contacts. (Well, almost enough. Fortunately for me, my parents are either 1) easily annoyed, or 2) indulgent.) So to be forced into wearing them because of an angry case of pink eye (which, Abby informed me, only happens when someone gets poo in their eye, EW) left me feeling rather unglamorous--partly because my movie star sunglasses don't fit over them.
For the last week I've had a headache, which I like to blame on my glasses, and last night it intensified, leaving me unmoving on my bed--yes, skipping taekwondo. After a few hours with the Cullens (the ones in my head, not the movie), I lay in the darkness staring up and thinking about my students. Because Anna left on Friday, there have only been 15--but I still forget and make 16 copies. I thought about how each of them represent 32 parents and 64 grandparents, all who had hopes and dreams for their futures--futures that I'm a part of. I started wondering what they were going to be when they grew up, and what their new teacher is going to be like. I hope she understands how special Aidan is, despite certain lacking abilities (i.e. understanding number sequence, oops).
I stepped into unknown territory, examining each of the kids and trying to think of what I hope for for my kids. I have two little girls who are perfect angels. They're the smartest, and will probably be leveled up into the second year class. I think they're probably what I would have wanted for my children before I realized how un-challenging and un-fun perfection is. For all of the times Aidan and I have made each other cry, I am going to miss him desperately. I feel as though this difficult four-year-old has taught me a lot about losing my selfishness and loving not because of what someone can do for me, but because he is good and deserving of good things.
It strikes kind of a theme that goes along with Twilight. Yeah yeah Bella's extraordinary, but how would the first book have gone if Edward could have read her thoughts? I pose the suggestion that his initial interest in her comes from the mystery and the challenge of getting to know her. Part of Aidan's appeal is the challenge he poses for my teaching abilities, and how the reward is greater when he does learn. I hope there's another one of him in my future.
The Faith Project - Trust in Thee
1 week ago