THE FIRST

Well Damn—I took a deep breath. My son's teacher adored him. It was written on her face. My son adored her. She was not the enemy. A year ago I sat at my son's teacher's table in his classroom. My ears were ringing. My heart was thumping wildly. I couldn't possibly have heard...

 

KIDDING AROUND

His Land Has Many Giants—What does a seven year old know of good sportsmanship?

 

Once Upon A Time, A Little Girl Made A Wish To ReadThis one was written to Lyla as her Christmas gift: There once was a little girl who loved books. Everywhere she went she took a book with her. Even when she went to sleep her books slept alongside her. She would sit and stare at the pictures and words and wondered what they said...

 

From One Dyslexic Warrior To AnotherHer red pen came out and Landon's face began to fall as the ink continued to flow page to page. He watched his teacher’s face for clues, sighed, and resigned himself to his fate. When she was done he said, “How bad is it?”

 

This is Brave This is BruisedI walked my children to their classrooms. Lyla walked ahead, eager to hug Mrs Walter and tell her all about how she got to go to tutoring after school. Landon lagged behind, tears falling to the floor. His hat pulled low to provide cover. He hid behind my legs as I opened his classroom door. “It’s going to be ok.” I whispered...

 

You Are More Capable Than You Think PossibleA few weeks ago the Hubs and I were sitting around a conference table talking about our children's progress with their highly specialized dyslexic tutors. She asked us what books our son was currently reading? We laughed. "He only reads what's required. We can't seem to get him interested in books at home." The teacher tapped her chin in thought...

 

Baseball, Pink, & The Midline“Mom? Does Lyla have dyslexia too? Is that why we have such a hard time hitting the ball?” It was the first time he’d owned the word dyslexia.

 

The Only Easy Day Was YesterdayEveryday was a battle. Everyday his complaining got worse until one day he got in the car and slammed the door shut. “No one cares about me Mommy! Not you! Not my teachers! Not the school nurse! NO ONE!” he yelled. I raised an eyebrow but managed to control my own reaction to my son’s volatile explosion. Something had just hit the fan. “What do you mean?”

 

ADULTING

 

 

SOAP BOXING