Forever our Rah-Rah

So it's just about one week til "summer" as we know it is officially over for the year, and both of my little girls will be headed to elementary school. Ella to 1st grade and Kate to kindergarten. Kate asks me every day how much longer she has to wait til school starts. And Ella is so excited about 'back-to-school' that she's already 20 steps ahead of us, making lists of all the activities she wants to do in December to celebrate Christmas. Happily, neither one of my girls is all that sad about end of summer days.

I thought I'd be sad about this milestone -- both of my girls going to elementary school. But I'm not. Maybe that's because elementary school is still so fun and shiny and new. Not just to my girls, but to me.

The one thing I'm not excited about...the one thing that makes my heart feel heavy...the one thing I've avoided thinking about (like. the. plague.)...is that back-to-school also means that we will no longer see our Rah-Rah every week. Rah-Rah, for those of you who don't know, is our beloved Sarah Johnson -- the woman who's been my girls' nanny for five years, also known as their entire lives. For perspective, this is how tiny my people were when Rah-Rah first came into their lives. (Ella couldn't say her name back when she was 17 months old, so she said "Rah-Rah." And it stuck.)



I just don't even know what I can say to tell you how strange it will be for us to not see Rah-Rah every week. It's different than saying goodbye to a teacher, or even a daycare provider who's been with a child since babyhood. It's like a member of your very close family -- like a favorite aunt, or your sister -- one you see every single week -- moving away.

To be clear, Rah-Rah isn't moving anywhere. She lives less than 10 minutes away. And I know that we will see each other (often, I hope!). I know that she'll always feel like family. That she'll forever be one of those friends, to me, and a touchstone, for my girls, who means so much that she'll always just be part of us. For all of that, I am so grateful. But I'm still sad that we won't get to see her every week.

I've been thinking and thinking about how to mark this milestone. What gift can I give that would show our appreciation? What words could I ever use to express how much her presence in our lives has meant to us? I still don't have the gift part figured out. But here, I want to try the words.

Sarah Dietze Johnson. We miss you already. We miss your long, shiny, gorgeous red hair. We miss your bright eyes. We miss your smile -- and we want you to know that we never once took for granted that you greeted our children with that smile every single time you walked into our door at 8 o'clock in the morning. Every time you greeted them at the end of a school day. At the end of every nap, and the beginning of each new phase in their lives.

I love looking back at the (shamefully few!) photos I have of you and the girls...because in all of them, they are just crazy, mad, in love with you.





We want you to know that we understand. We totally get the role you have played in raising our daughters. Kate has known you since she was 3 months old and Ella doesn't remember her life without you in it. You have spent 8 hours a day, 3 days a week with our daughters, for five years. I'm really bad at math. But that's a lot of hours. That's more time than anyone except Chris and I have spent with them. That time. Sarah, that time in our girls' lives. It was precious. It was so, so precious. I don't know if I could have left for work on all those mornings, had I not known that I was relinquishing those precious hours of my girls' lives to you.

You, who I knew would delight in the funny, bright things they say. You, who I knew would take just as much joy and pride in dressing them, and brushing their hair, and ponytailing and braiding and crafting and playing as I do. You, who I knew would reinforce our efforts to teach them to be kind. You, who would make sure they said their please's and thank you's.

You, who loved our girls as your own babies even before you had your own.



You, who would put them in time out when they deserved it, but laugh when they found a way to fanagle out of it.





You, who would lay down with them and sing them lullabyes so they would take naps. You, who would hug them when they cried. You, who would worry about them when they were sick. Squeeze them when they got off the bus or when you picked them up from preschool. Clap for them, while smiling ear to ear, during ballet class or when they would say a new word or learn a new skill.



You, who took time from her actual wedding to squeeze and shower attention on two little girls who were amazed that their nanny was a real, live, princess.



You, who I always knew I could trust. Trust to never harm my girls -- to love and protect and care for them as they were your own.

When Ella's beloved Poodle was lost and she cried for two days straight, it was you who saved the day (the year? our lives?) when you found Him, wedged behind the headboard of the playroom bed.



You, who was the first to feed Kate from a bottle. You, who was there to care for Ella overnight when Kate was in the hospital. You who made that night so special that Ella didn't truly realize her little sister was seriously sick.



You, who were sick to your stomach, just as we were, when Ella was being seen in the Oncology ward at Children's Hospital for those dreaded weeks. You, who cared for my babies when I was so dreadfully sick that, for 2 full weeks, I didn't even know my name, couldn't open my eyes and could barely get out of bed. I was sad to miss those two weeks with my girls. But even as I lay like a drugged up zombie in bed, I never once worried about them, because I knew they were loved and cared for by their daddy at night, and you -- all day long.

As the girls grew older, I watched with pride and joy as I saw them shower your children with the same love and affection that you had showered on them since they were babies.







In bringing Case and Drew into our home all those days, it has been you who has given my daughters the opportunity to know that all-consuming love that we feel for them. Words can never describe how deeply Ella and Kate love your children. How much joy they get every time they hear Case call them "La La Bella" or "Dee Dee." They both got to be big sisters, and little mamas, to your beautiful babies. And I do believe that getting to play that role has been one of the greatest and most fulfilling experiences of their 5- and 6-year-old lives.



I remember how I felt, as a 7-year-old girl, when my half-sister and then half-brother were born. How having them in my life somehow made my heart feel bigger, because so much more love needed to fit inside it. How I realized that life was not about me. How I realized how much more fulfilling life was when I focused on the needs and wants and joy of other people, instead of just on my own. And I am so grateful that my girls now know that same feeling. Case and Drew may not be 'siblings' to Ella and Kate, but as far as we are concerned, they may as well be. Ella and Kate love your children as they are their own brother and sister. And they have learned as much about unconditional love from their relationship with your children as any 'blood relation' ever could.

Sarah, if I wrote for hours, I couldn't capture all you've been to us. I sometimes wish I had stayed home full time with my girls. But in those moments, I always remind myself that if I had stayed home, my girls would not have had the gift of knowing and loving you, and Case, and Drew. And Map too.





And as much as I treasure every moment with my girls, I wouldn't change a moment of their first 6 years, even if I could. Because their lives; their sweet, smart, sassy little souls; their personalities, their senses of 'self,' their very beings just wouldn't be the same had they not known, and loved, and been loved by you.

Sarah, please know that you will always have a special place in our hearts. You are so much more than a nanny to us. You are a dear friend. You are The One Who Knows Our Girls As Well As We Do. You made sure our girls felt love every hour we couldn't be with them. You are a member of our family -- one we have the blessing of choosing -- for life. We will always love you. We will always be grateful for you. You are welcome in our home any time, all the time, forever and ever. Lord knows I don't have to clean my house or even brush my teeth in order for you to come over, because you've seen us at our very worst.

Sarah, it really is true that it takes a village to raise a child. The Sugars, as you call us, are so, so grateful for the incredibly important role you have played in raising Ella and Kate. Thank you for being a constant source of love and brightness and joy in their lives. And ours. Thank you for sharing your children with us, and for helping prepare our girls for a Very Grateful Life. You will forever be our Rah-Rah, and we will love and adore and be grateful to you. Forever and ever. Amen.

Teacher Appreciation Week: Why I love ‘Mrs. G.’

Let me be honest. I have been waiting for months for Teacher Appreciation Week. And no, I’m not a teacher. Although I kind of wish I would’ve been. But that’s a different post.

I’ve been waiting for the perfect opportunity to capture in writing all the ways I just, simply, ADORE my daughter Ella’s kindergarten teacher, Mrs. G.

First, I should be clear – I wasn’t particularly excited to send my first-born child to elementary school. I knew I was, well, kind of lawfully obligated to send her. And that she’d probably love it. That she’d probably learn so much. Make new friends. Grow. But I still had the pit in my stomach. So many fears and questions, which ran like a constant ticker tape in my mind.



Would her teacher be kind? Would she be loving? Would she ‘see,’ really see, my girl? Would she know how precious and special she is? Would she foster Ella’s natural excitement for learning, or would she stifle it? Would she challenge Ella while also making her feel accepted and excited to learn? Would she help both Ella’s mind and heart to grow?

Now, as we approach the end of Ella’s kindergarten year, I can look back and smile at those questions. Maybe they’ll emerge again, at another time, an older age, a different teacher, a different school. But right here, right now, as summer is fast approaching, I simply could not have LOVED or been more grateful for Ella’s kindergarten experience. Every single second of it.

Yes, some of that gratitude is rightfully directed to the school. To its welcoming culture. To the amazing women who seem to run the entire school from the ‘central command center’ humbly called ‘the office.’ To the principal who gives the kids high fives as they enter the building and walk the halls. To all of Ella’s ‘specials’ teachers, who have nurtured her love of art and reading and music and play. To other great parents who have raised the great kids who are Ella’s classmates. To the children themselves – who are just so sweet and smart and dear.

But more than anything, I attribute this deep sense of gratitude to Ella’s kindergarten teacher, Mrs. G. Mrs. G. is, quite simply, more than I ever expected, better than I ever imagined possible.

I have the privilege of volunteering in her class for just an hour or so, one day a week. And it’s hands-down, the happiest, most fulfilling hour of my week. I love the time with the kids. I love the time with Ella. But mostly, I love watching Mrs. G.

I love Mrs. G. for starting out the year with the book “How full is your bucket?,” and for teaching my girl, by example, every day, how she can fill her own ‘bucket’ when she focuses intently on ‘filling the buckets’ of the people around her.

I love watching Mrs. G. kneel down, eye level with each child, to read with them or ask them about a story they’re writing – or to ask them how they’re feeling, or to give them a hug when she knows they really need it.



I love hearing and watching her read stories to the children – with her eyebrows raised, commanding their full attention with her intonation and voice fluctuations and pregnant pauses and facial expressions. I love how she plays classical music as they work independently on their projects, and how most days, they are so engaged in their work, that you can hear every note of that music. And know they’re listening, really listening to it, too.

I love that she makes learning so very much fun. Corporate leaders of the world – if you want to know how to inspire your employees to give you their best work – how to create a truly engaged workforce of employees who strive to learn and grow and thrive – please visit Mrs. G’s class. You can come during her unit on ‘the continents’ (which, by the way, I learned in the 5th grade and in the dullest, most boring way) and listen to the 5 and 6 year olds gleefully sing 4 different songs, which they’ve memorized by heart, while you simultaneously get a cultural lesson about what it’s like to visit Italy, or France, or China – and hear every syllable of the word “Au-stra-li-a.” You watch how she teaches her class about the complexities of the African Rain Forest, while they physically build one out of paper, floor to ceiling, in a corner of her classroom. You can wonder what these kindergarteners imagined about their own leadership potential when they helped create “Mount Kindergarten” for one of the few, small, uncovered areas of Mrs. G’s wall, with individual self-portraits of each classmate emulating the likes of presidents Washington and Lincoln.

In each of these instances, it’s not that she makes learning so much fun that ‘they don’t even know that they’re learning.’ It’s that she makes it so much fun that they know they are learning and they LOVE it. They crave it. They want more of it.

I love Mrs. G.’s dress up days. Knowing, for example, how much more the children will remember the nursery rhymes they read and re-read at the beginning of the year, because they all had the chance to come to class dressed as their favorite character.



I love that Mrs. G. invited horses – real, live horses – to class during her farm unit. That she invited loved ones to school to help her students build bird houses – with real hammers and nails – during her ‘tools’ unit.



I love that these little 6-year-olds, most of whom, like my Ella, could only write their name on the first day of school, just independently wrote 10-page non-fiction ‘books,’ complete with ‘about the author’ pages, written in third person.

I love that she taught our children the true meaning of the ‘holiday spirit’ AND the true power of the amazing things they could accomplish together, as a team, by giving them the opportunity to plan and implement a school-wide ‘Gingerbread sale,’ during which they raised hundreds of dollars and other donations for a local family in need.



I love that Mrs. G. doesn’t call her students ‘kids’ or ‘children’ or even ‘class.’ She calls them ‘friends.’ All the time. Every time. When she’s trying to quiet them, it’s “Friends, it’s getting noisy. Work quietly please.” When she’s congratulating them, it’s an enthusiastic “Friends! You have done a great job this morning!” It may seem like a little thing. But it’s a big thing to the little people she teaches. Because this simple word makes them feel respected and valued. Which, I believe, is another reason they come to school every day excited to learn.

I love that Mrs. G. so quickly learned the unique personalities and needs of each child, and intuitively seemed to understand how to respond to the unique needs of each one. I love that Mrs. G. has taught Ella to be such a brave reader and a brave learner. And that Mrs. G. has taught Ella and her classmates that the only real failure is the failure to try.

I love that Mrs. G. so clearly, so obviously loves teaching. I love seeing the ear-to-ear smile, the utter delight on her face when she sees a new creation by of one of her aspiring artists – especially when she can tell that child put in extra effort and focus to make it their very best work. I love that she meets every single child where they are, and celebrates their accomplishments as individuals – knowing that each one of her ‘friends’ will learn differently, and at different paces and levels, every day.

So with this post, I thank Mrs. G. I thank her for creating a loving, nurturing, challenging and inspiring environment for my Ella, and hundreds of other little people over the years, to learn.

I thank her for not letting ever-evolving ‘assessments’ and new standards and other public school bureaucracies, which are beyond her control, kill her spirit or her love of teaching. For finding a way to make sure her kindergartners get to experience the Amazon Rain Forest, the Cherry blossoms of China, the romance of Paris, the food of Italy…the complexities of the English language, the knowledge that ‘research’ can bring. I thank her teaching them that they can find whole new worlds in books. For showing them, by example, that you really do get out of life what you put into it.

I thank her for going above and beyond what’s expected by any ‘common core,’ and for her diehard commitment to making learning fun. I thank her for leading by example. For showing her ‘friends’ the importance of being brave and kind. For loving each student, even when they’re difficult. For filling their buckets, and igniting their love of learning, every single day.

I thank her for making school feel like a home away from home for my little girl, and for making Ella feel every bit as loved and ‘seen’ and valued as she is when she’s with me – if not moreso.

Mrs. G., I thank you for being the best example of the word “teacher” that I could ever ask for. Thank you for so much more.

On Teacher Appreciation week -- thank you for being you.