breathe.

word of the day: breathe \ˈbrēth\ to pause and rest before continuing

I think Fall is starting to feel like he's overstaying his welcome. How do I know? Because I've worn socks every day for the last week. That's how I know.

Frankly, I'm not ready for Fall to pack his bags yet. I was just thinking the other day that the amount of cider I've had to drink so far is not sufficient and that I haven't even touched a single leaf yet. I don't know why that's a big deal to me, but it seems like during Fall you should at least do something outside with the leaves. Like jump in a pile of them. Or throw them in the air with reckless abandon. I didn't do any of those things.

I took the construction paper autumn leaves off of a cupboard in my classroom today to clear room for the white paper snowflakes I'm going to make my ninth graders cut out tomorrow.

Fall, I'm not trying to run you out of town, rather, I'm trying to prepare myself for your departure. You're welcome to take a later flight if you'd like, but it always seems like once Thanksgiving is come and gone, so are you.

I was sitting on the couch doing some school work the other night when I realized that it had gotten awfully quiet. That's when I looked over and saw this on our other couch:

Somehow Jake has managed to turn Ginny into his lap dog, which is a task I have been attempting to do since the day we brought her home. Either way, I took the same picture three times because of the serenity of it all. It was a picture of rest at its finest.

That's when I remembered break is coming and I started to breathe a little more slowly.

I can part with Fall if it means Christmas music, nights full of peppermint hot chocolate, and every Christmas movie imaginable. I can snap up the suitcase if it means I get to relax with my family and wear my "I believe" t-shirt. I can throw away the green gourd outside of my door if it means I get to make my house explode with green, red, and cheer.

Because, really, what's the holiday season without the cheer?

I taught my students about theme and symbolism last week. We read "The Scarlet Ibis" and now periodically I'll stop class, wistfully sigh, and say, "Doodle."

(The Doodle comment won't make any sense unless you've read the story, which I highly recommend you do. It's short and you will need a box of tissues.)

I'm big on symbolism. In fact, I got so excited about it with one class that I had to stop and catch my breath. When I told them that they were lucky to have a teacher who loved symbolism so much it caused her to gasp for air, they looked at me like I was crazy. They seem to do that a lot.

Anyways, the theme and symbol discussion got me thinking about my own life. I love the concept of story, because I'm a firm believer that we each live a unique story. We live life amidst characters, plot twists, settings, and conflicts. Story is symbolic to me because it means that I hold the pen to write a great story for myself. As I told my 9th graders, the choices we make will write great stories. Or mediocre stories. Or poor stories. **

Either way, we have a story to tell and our lives are going to tell it one way or another.

Whether or not we take advantage of the pen we hold in our hand.

With that said, then, I suppose it's safe to say that our lives contain themes with the different seasons (don't get me started on the symbolism of the seasons).

In college my girlfriends and I used to sporadically ask each other the following questions: "If your life were a book, what would the current chapter be titled?"

I can remember always trying to think of something really philosophical.

What would my current life chapter be called? What's the theme of my life right now?

That's easy.

Breathe.

Jake reminds me of this often. When I feel like my head is going to spin straight off my neck, he nudges me gently and says, "breathe."

When I can't see past the stress of the present day, he first asks me if the stress of my modern office has caused me to go into a depression. Once I crack a smile (and sometimes manage to say,"Depression? Isn't that just a fancy word for bummed out?"), he quietly whispers, "breathe."

Breathe.

Fall may be pulling out my driveway, but the holidays are fast approaching. And for me, the fast pace of the holidays actually seems to remind me to breathe. To take a few minutes to remember what's really important. To take the pen in my hand and write a good story. Both figuratively and literally.

On a totally unrelated, and yet absolutely necessary note, I read almost all of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows last week before seeing the movie last Saturday. Besides falling back in love with my old friends, Harry, Ron, and Hermione, I have now re-familiarized myself with all the spells.

With the said, Accio suitcase. I need to pack my bags for vacation.

Fall's not the only one busting out of town.

**If the idea of writing your own life story resonates with you, then I strongly recommend you read the book A Million Miles in a Thousand Years by Donald Miller. It will rock your world.