“This week sucked.”

I said that not once, not twice, but one million times this past week.

It’s really hard to be honest with people and tell them you had a crappy week when you really just want to say, “It’s all good in the hood!”

I would rather half smile and mutter something about being fine.

Even on these blog posts, I would like to share the humor and insight and not about the days where middle schoolers make me want to pull my hair out. Strand by strand.

I would rather tell you the funny story about the student in my 4th-period class over alllll the ones that make me sound like world’s worst teacher.

I would rather tell you the good things I ate this week over the chocolate binge that occurred most days last week.

I would rather tell you about ridiculous dating stories over the countless times I’ve felt rejected or ignored.

 

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Or I would rather post a cuter selfie like this. #Expectation

 

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Versus the one that looks like this. #Reality

 

Vulnerability is hard for me. Vulnerability is hard for our society.

 

The fear of saying for example,

“My life is nowhere near perfect.”

“My anxiety is crippling.”

“I am not sure how I will pay my bills this month.”

“This great guy I really liked suddenly decided he didn’t want to talk to me anymore.”

What would I be met with if I faced these things head on? If I put on my big girl pants and had the hard conversations with loved friends.

Because how many times have the words, “Me too.”, changed your life?

There was a whole #MeToo movement that changed the lives of millions of women. The ones who never knew they could speak out about that awful night or those horrific memories.

I have to be honest with people in my life, just like I have to have caffeine in the morning.

There are probably many things in your life that are making your week feel less than hunky dory and I would say, let’s not sit in it but let’s press into it. To be able to admit we are worn down, to be able to break into the candy drawer without judgment, to be able to cry to our co-worker + friend.

And even me attempting to end this post right now, I want it to have a neat bow at the end where I encourage the five faithful readers in my life and remind you that you have the freedom to be authentically and powerfully yourself. That you can feel (insert negative emotion here) if you need to for a little while and sometimes even longer. In fact, there is a community of women, including me, who feel it with you and who are in it with you.

So the next time you tell me or a friend that your week simply sucked, you may be met with a,

“Mine too.”

 

 

BUNCO Beauties.

Last Thursday we had a fundraiser for Young Lives, a ministry dedicated to helping teen moms and their babies find community and hope. To see families changed for generations to come.

The fundraiser was a BUNCO night to raise money for a camp that would allow these young moms + babies to get away for a week and experience God in a new way.

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Now if you are anything like me, you might be sitting there thinking “What in the world is bunco?!”

Bunco, is a good time. That’s what bunco is.

Essentially the game is played with three dice, two sets of partners, and some paper. Easy peasy. During each set, you have to roll specific numbers and if you do roll that number, you keep going. Through the set, you keep points on your scorecard. While I felt as though I lacked skill during the game, it’s truly a game of probability and luck.

However, these women rolled up their sleeves and let the trash talk begin. I’m looking at you, Ethyl. You know what you did.

I mean Ethyl wasn’t really there, but the fierce competition was.

Along with the sassy, was the sweets. Mexican wedding cookies, brownies, and even a hot chocolate bar. (Our cuisine committee is no joke!)

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The sweetest being the cause bringing us all there. Sixty women in one space all in the anticipation of young lives being changed. The teen moms, their precious littles, and their families changed forever. That is the absolute most beautiful thing. The laughter as we took in the fellowship. The tears wiped away as others realized the weight of the mission.

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The women in my community graciously give their time and money to be apart of the redemptive stories happening in other young women’s lives right now. It simply amazes me.

I could go on and on about the night and the amazing, silly, courageous women who I saw with all night. But instead, let me say this-there are teen moms out there who are desperate and ready for nights like these. Nights where we commune, eat, laugh, and love.  They are at the end of their ropes to get diapers and formula, anxiously searching for joy and rest.

And I think about the young mom I sat with at dinner last night who said she is making big changes for her family, present and future because she has seen the glimpses of support, community, and hope for a different life.

Then, for the woman who spoke into my soul as she left the fundraiser and said, “You know, I too was a teen mom.”

 

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So many beautiful hearts gathered for one purpose.

 

That is why we BUNCO. That is why we love teen moms.

 

Stay Lit.

They say the best cure for insecurity is hanging out with middle schoolers.

Well, actually they don’t say that.

And maybe last year I would have joined the crowd and said if you have self-esteem issues do not hang out with 13-year-olds for a living.

This year, I say do it. Your confidence will be held up to every test, and some days it will fail. Miserably.

Like when the 8th grader squints their eyes and goes, “What is on your face?” Did I forget to wash off the zit cream from last night? Dried drool from my retainers? (Gosh, I’m such a babe, you guys.) Oh no, that’s right I stabbed myself in the eye with my mascara wand. “It’s mascara!” I reply. Crisis averted.

Or “Woah, Miss Stewart you look nice today! Like really nice!” As opposed to other days? Do I normally show up here looking like I’ve been run over? Please don’t answer that.

If I let my confidence, esteem, or any kind of affirmation be based on middle schoolers opinions, it will always be fleeting. Now don’t get me wrong, they are truth tellers so if they say I’m looking good or my outfit is on point, then I am looking good. I don’t question it.

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Just out here slowly losing all my street cred. 

 

However, I can’t depend on it or hope for it.

When in history has trying to gain the approval of middle schoolers worked out for us? Did it work for you or I in middle school? Probably not. Definitely not for me. And yet here we are, as grown adults trying to gain the approval of other adults. We try to gain more Instagram followers, likes, comments, retweets, and so on. What in the world? What are we even doing right now?

We simply got older, we didn’t actually grow up. We have barely moved on from middle school.

We have to realize that affirmation can never be found from another person, it can only be found in God. That’s it.

Your self-worth has never been truly measured by what your spouse thinks of you, your kids, your mailman, your barista, and certainly not a middle schooler! Those little boogers change their opinions daily.

For example:

“Wow, that’s lit.”

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Two weeks later:

Anyone says “lit.”

“Did you really just say ‘lit?’. You’re corny.” 

So let’s stop being middle schoolers about it and see what awesome folks we are. Let’s see the people we are as God sees us. The most authentic, most beautiful versions of ourselves.

The Bible says in Ephesians 4:14, “Then we will no longer be infants, tossed back and forth by the waves, and blown here and there by every wind of teaching and by the cunning and craftiness of people in their deceitful scheming.”

When we’re trying to stay up with trends or hottest styles, we are worse than middle schoolers-we are like infants! (You know how those babies love their trends. #BabyFashionista). The point is, let’s have our affirmation come from Christ. Let’s have our beauty illuminate out of the place where we find that affirmation.

Because when we are not blown by the wind and the waves, not trying to keep up on social media, we become something else entirely.

Rooted. Established. Unwavering. 

 

And yes, most importantly when we find our affirmation in Christ we will truly be…lit.

Stay lit, friends.

For Nonno.

Two days ago was the one year anniversary of Nonno passing. For those of you who are not Italian or who do not watch The Real Housewives of New Jersey, Nonno means grandpa in Italian.

My Nonno had Alzheimer’s, which I’m entirely convinced is the worst of all the diseases. You forget the most beautiful things you have in life, the people and the memories of them. It’s heartwrenching.

However, as most of us do, we find joy in the pain.

So one summer as I took care of Nonno, I also took down funny and memorable quotes from that time as well as pictures…enjoy!

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Ugh. I loved that man so big.

And when we were not joking or in a heated debate (or argument), then we were singing and dancing.

We danced to Glenn Miller’s “Moonlight Serenade” and sang our hearts out to Andrea Bocelli. I still can’t listen to Bocelli and Celine Dion’s version of “The Prayer” without crying. It’s true what music does for someone losing their memory, it brings them to life. It was especially true for Nonno. Music was significant to us and it was no coincidence that in our last moments together the worker at the nursing home turned on a playlist that started with “Die A Happy Man” by Thomas Rhett.

I sit here still sad for my family over losing this funny, wonderful man but it makes me wonder about you. Who have you lost in your short life? Who do you wish you had one more exchange with or one last dance with? I’m not sure. Here’s what I’ll say and it was advice given to me by a wise aunt, it doesn’t get easier–it just becomes different.

Tonight, may you remember the funny stories, listen to the songs they loved, and pour over the pictures I know you still have. We need that. Call those one or two friends who allow you to just start talking about it for no reason.  We need those people around us. We need the time + grace to process the grief in our time, not just three days after that person was lost. That person and the memories matter so much.

And to you, Nonno.  Thank you for your love & life.

         Fiercely devoted.

         Passionately Italiano.

        Irritably argumentative.

       Hysterically truthful.

       Overwhelmingly missed.

        Dearly loved.

With so much love, your Peachy Pie.

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(And for those of you who knew my Nonno and loved him, or those who just enjoy good music. I attached some of our favorite songs below in a Spotify playlist.)

 

History to be written.

There’s a reason I teach history. I love to read over the words of those who have gone before us, to hear their humor, joy, pain, and life expressed in a manner different than how I would say it.  To try to understand why something happened in history, but to connect with that person from way back when.

It’s a funny thing to read your words from a year ago. And usually not funny in a truly laughable way, but more so funny like, “Hmm that’s interesting.” When you read the old words you write, they sometimes strike you new.

And there is a reason I journal and keep my own personal history documented. Not because my life is particularly fascinating or noteworthy to anyone except me, but I really enjoy those glimpses into that moment of my life, who I was, and who I am now. Last year around this time, the new year started off rough. I had lost my Nonno (grandpa) and my teaching career was an everyday obstacle course. Tonight I read my own words from last year, “It’s 4:51 as I sit in rm. 215 with tears streaking down my face, and I fear I have lost a student for good. I fear that his hate for me has etched so deep in his heart that he will tune me out until June. That he will not soak up one historical event because of his bitterness towards me. And I am mad at him, but I am so mad at me…”

I’ll never forget how long it took me to get out of my chair on that Friday night after work and how I decided I would be better. I declared another new year’s resolution to start praying for him and I did.

At the end of the year he goes, “You’re actually not that bad, you’re pretty cool.” Lol. Good times. Thanks for the memories, bud.

Regardless of how he felt about me, it always comes down to how God feels about me. Fortunately, I don’t have to guess or wonder. We are unbelievably loved and affirmed by the Lord and as far as I’m concerned, that’s the only real approval I need.

Now many days (or every day) do I want all the 14-year-olds to declare how freaking awesome I am? Uh, yeah. But that’s not what I need and at the end of the day, not what truly matters in my job.

Here’s my point, whatever co-worker, parent, girlfriend, individual you are trying to appease or impress this new year, please, don’t. In their heart of hearts, they don’t want that pressure. The resolutions we make cannot be for them.

Set your goals on a better you, and set your heart on things above.

It will bring you so much more resolve than a half-hearted resolution ever could. I can’t wait to see what we do in the new year. It will be so good.

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Cheers to 2018, dear friend!

8th Graders are hilarious.

This is my second year teaching. I am still a hot mess. I mean every day just sort of a “Welp. That just happened,” attitude. I’m forever the shrugging emoji. (See below).

I asked my co-tewoman-shrugging_1f937-200d-2640-fe0facher to keep an eye on the class as I had to use the restroom. Well coming back, I was in a rush because I knew this class period was a challenge and I didn’t want to leave him alone for long. On this day, I happened to be wearing particularly slippery shoes and of course, I slipped.

More of a trip, drop and slam your knee than a slip. Lucky for me, no one was around.

NOT.

Five of my 8th-grade boys are standing nearby and one, in particular, is dying with laughter.

One rushes to my side, “Miss Stewart, are you ok?”

“Oh, I’m fine, more of a bruised ego than anything.”

I go into my classroom like nothing happened, and hobble to my desk. To continue my good fortune, I was wearing skinny jeans and couldn’t assess the situation.

The day continues and later on, I see the student in the office who cracked up.  He tells our discipline lady, “Miss Stewart tripped up the stairs.” She laughs and says, “Where?!” Upon explaining she replies, “Yeah, I’m going to need to pull the videotape.” Ha. Ha. I happen to have this same student at the end of the day and he walks in, announces to the room, “Guys, Miss Stewart tripped up the stairs. It was hilarious.” This student also has a lisp so when he said “hilarious”, it sounded more like “hilawious.” Which simply added to the humor of it all. “Don’t worry, we’re gonna pull the tape.” All of this causes a breakout of laughter.

“Yup. True story, guys.” More of the shrugging emoji.

And that’s the way teaching middle school goes many days.  Tripping over your words, and prepared lesson plans falling apart. Instead of bruised knees, sometimes a bruised self-esteem. In reality, I would not have it any other way. I love my students.  I love what I get to do.

Also, isn’t that often the way that life goes? No matter how much we plan or prep, something goes awry? One part of the plan always seems to unravel.

However, I have also found the shoes with more traction are best.