Tag Archives: Fear

The Perfect Example of Love

16 Monday Feb 2015

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images46 years ago this Valentine’s Day, a bright-eyed 22-year old man proposed to his 19-year old girlfriend. It had only been five months, but they were young and in love, and she happily said yes. Eight weeks later, they were married on a Tuesday at the local Methodist church. It was the beginning of a beautiful love affair, what would soon become the greatest love story I’ve ever known.

1521249_10152154321334602_1444298455_nI’ve witnessed this marriage between my parents for over 36 years, and to this day I’ve never seen them argue. It’s the perfect balance between two people; so similar in their approach to life, yet different in personality and demeanor. My father, a creature of habit and routine, enjoys his scheduled lifestyle of leisure, while my mother’s unpredictable and lively nature keeps you guessing. They were ideally suited for parenthood as the harmony between them infused their children’s lives.

FullSizeRenderA stream of confidence that never wavered, they provided a solid foundation of support during the emotional roller-coaster ride of my childhood. They were the calm beneath my teenage storm, a warm shelter and soft place to land. They always put their children’s needs before their own.

Now as a mother and parent of three strong-willed children, I think of their example as I react to the ups and downs of daily life. I feel their strength when I’m at my best and their forgiveness in my downfalls.  I remember their kindness before responding to a tantrum, and I still ask them for advice on a regular basis.

FullSizeRenderHere in the throes of motherhood, I have many opportunities to practice patience. Like most moms, I am constantly being challenged by my kid’s outbursts and behavior. I get easily frustrated with Evelyn’s shouts of defiance in her attempt to gain independence, and while I’m open and receiving of Mason’s wisdom and energy, I’m fearful, even angry, when he blindly follows his friends. Already a mother, yet still the student, I try to respond with kindness, but fall victim to my fear instead.

It has been widely quoted that “making the decision to have a child is to forever decide to have your heart go walking around outside your body.” I find it both exciting and terrifying to have such little control over these beings that carry my heart in their hand. For one day soon they’ll be making their own decisions and charter a new path. They’ll sail off into the world, taking my heart with them, but I’ll do my best to support their decisions, as my parents did for me.

IMG_5914A few weeks ago, Tilley and Mason brought home a heritage assignment, the most dreaded, yet cherished, school project for an adoptive mom. Although we talk about Mason’s heritage on a regular basis, this assignment facilitates a deeper discussion, providing a great opportunity to explore his feelings and any questions he may have. On the morning of his presentation, my heart leapt from my chest as he courageously presented to his classroom. He spoke proudly of his country, his heritage, and the details of his adoption.

As part of the assignment, we were asked to choose eight significant life events to outline the story of his life. Of course, I wanted to use his birth as the event that began his timeline, but we were asked to provide more specific details on what happened that day. Nervously, I dove into the discussion, wondering how he would respond.

On October 4th, 2007, in the capital city of Hanoi, Vietnam, Mason’s birth mother, doctor and nurses welcomed him into the world; a beautiful day when he and his mother spent precious hours together. This woman, who I may never have the privilege to meet, made my son’s life possible and for that I owe her a great debt. As he wrote down the details, he looked at me with his wise, insightful eyes and said, “I bet she misses me.” Those five words split my heart into a million pieces, evoking feelings of love and deep sorrow. I responded, “of course she does.”

On that day she made the decision to have her heart walk outside her body in the most selfless way; she offered her son another path, a different life than the one she could provide. The love she has for her son is the most unconditional love I know of; a divine, selfless love that pours everything out, yet expects nothing in return. Even if there is sorrow, only the purest love remains. Like finding the most beautiful flower, but not picking it because you want it to live.

Mason’s birth mom may never get to experience the joy that I feel when his smile lights up a room and she may never bear witness to his compassionate heart. Although their lives took separate paths, the connection between their souls will never be lost. Instead, they are on a journey to find each other within, to achieve inner peace and solitude, even amidst the physical loss.

I’ve been told that a broken heart physically hurts because light is breaking in allowing the heart to expand. In these broken moments we can either repress the pain by closing off our heart in fear, or we can give ourselves some time to grieve, the catalyst to healing and growth.

IMG_2220Behind every one of my children’s tantrums is an opportunity for my heart to expand or contract. When I was a child I acted out, but my parents showed me compassion. That love is part of me; the living and breathing example that shows me which way to go. But when my defiant children stand before me and anger is all I can taste, I can think of a woman in Vietnam, whose heart is standing before me. I can sit with my fear, feel my heart-break, and experience a level of love like I have never known before; pure, unconditional love with no expectation or attachment to the outcome. I can just let go, and when I do, I will find her there.

Back in the World Again

10 Sunday Aug 2014

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I walked into the cabin and dropped my luggage like I’d been carrying it for miles. The anxiety of daily life wrapped around me like a cloak; so used to it, I barely even noticed. The hectic nature of everyday life, coupled with some thick layers of stress, had become my norm. Like a busy squirrel, I hurried around the house, going from room to room, unpacking my belongings for a 10-day stay. Even at the beginning of a silent, solitary retreat in the middle of the woods, I acted like I had somewhere to go, something to do.

IMG_3266-1I put away my groceries, unpacked everything from my suitcases, and only until every last object was put away did I allow myself a moment of rest. Like a brick, I collapsed onto the couch, exhausted from the morning. The unsettled energy still surging through my veins, I felt a throbbing sensation in my arms and legs. That initial shock of silence followed by a moment of stillness were ripe with emotion of a long, lost friend; simultaneous joy and sadness.

I lit some incense and watched as it quietly seeped into the room and subsumed me with her sweet aroma. So too did thoughts slowly begin to pervade my mind; a roller coaster of emotion and I rode them up and down the track. A feeling of exhilaration followed shortly by the despair of an unsettled heart.

My dis-eased mind tossed and turned, begging and tormenting me with her plea. Compulsively, obsessively wanting to fill that wide open space with words, ideas and concepts, making that space feel smaller and smaller as she went on. I followed them as they paraded along. On a regular basis, most of my thoughts go largely unnoticed, but not here. Not in the midst of this silence.

IMG_2108[1]The night closed in on the day and my anxiety levels sharply rose with fear. Here I am, in the middle of a mountain, completely defenseless. Not even a phone within my reach, as I’m outside the range of a single cell phone tower. I shut the windows, closed the blinds, and locked every door I could find. I flashed the outdoor flood lights on and off to see what, if anything, lurked in the shadows. I went to my bedroom, locked the door behind me and hid under the covers until I fell asleep.

2:00am. The house settled and cracked loudly, waking me from a very deep sleep. Startled, and then terrified, I thought someone was trying to open my locked bedroom door. My heart began to race, beating so hard I thought it would jump from my chest. Paralyzed by fear, I gasped for my breath, but the wind was completely knocked out of me. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t even think. I laid there, motionless. After a few minutes it became obvious. Out there, in the middle of that mountain, the scariest thing was right there in bed with me, in the middle of my head.

I woke up the next morning and was ready for a productive day. I grabbed a broom and began to sweep my thoughts out from every corner of their dark and scary rooms. Out from their hiding places, I brushed them into the light, in the middle of the room. Illuminating what was previously invisible, no stone would go unturned. Hours into the day and there they were; compulsively, obsessively demanding my attention. One after the other, they would sprout up. Out of nowhere. Unexpectedly. FORCEFULLY. Calling me to action. Powerful and spontaneous with their persuasive messages. They scared me with their intensity and volume. It felt like someone was yelling at me.

IMG_2086[1]Like a water skier with no skis, pulled by a boat, each and every thought dragged me along for a ride. Outside, it started to rain. Exhausted by all of the chatter, I just sat down and watched it come down. Slowly at first, then picking up intensity; the rain, along with my thoughts, turned into a downpour. A terrible storm.

IMG_2066[1]Many days passed, the rain finally started to clear. The dark clouds dissipated and the sun peaked onto the lawn. I sat on the patio and watched as the animals came back out to play. The birds sailed from their trees, and the snails stretched out from their hiding places. Bees and hummingbirds gently poked at the flowers and garden that surrounded me. I grabbed my camera and tried to take it all in. Like the snail, I too began to stretch out and expand into the silence of the retreat. Five days in and the stillness of the place was glistening in the sunlight. The leaves shimmered in the wind. I could finally relax in this serene and soothing space.

Like the white billowing clouds overhead, my thoughts are slower now. Fewer and further between. They are bigger and have more detail. I can see them clearly.

…this is anxiety.

…this is sorrow.

…this is paranoia.

Like the coyote’s cry in the middle of the night, those fears pierce my heart, but they just want to be heard. Like a mother cradling her child after he falls, I carefully brush each one off and hold them in my arms before they fade away. They arise out of fear, but they heal through my awareness. A simple acknowledgment puts them at ease, allowing them to float away, back into the expanse of the sky.

IMG_2025[1]I found joy and happiness in the sunset and the dusk that followed. The animal’s nightly routines and songs soothe me with their predictability. The darkness of night no longer holds me in her clutches. I leave the windows open and my bedroom door unlocked. I use ear plugs when I sleep so I won’t wake up unnecessarily. For if a boogie man is coming to get me, then I’ll be dead anyway, so what’s the sense in worrying? I sleep peacefully now and I wake up laughing from my dreams.

FlowerThe sun is warmer, so I sunbathe in the grass and do salutations under her gaze. The birds sail up in the sky and the woodpecker gently taps on the tree reminding me to stay present with my thoughts. There’s little grasping at them now, so instead I draw silly pictures of nature and color them in with my kid’s crayons and water paints. It’s so easy to find joy in the simple things.

image_3I’ve found peace within myself that wasn’t there before. A completeness from deep within; the space that fear used to fill. A freedom in my heart and a spaciousness in my mind. Those rains swept through every pore of my body, cleansing me from head to toe. I can now go back to my family, friends and co-workers with a renewed sense of life and purpose. I have such appreciation for life and every single person in it. Truly, life is a gift, meant to be savored and cherished. Even the tough stuff can bring growth, a blessing in disguise. I want to be more available for others and live more fully and completely in the moment. I’m no longer weighed down by thick layers of unnecessary suffering. I’m back in the world again. It’s the only way to be. I’m naked like a tree. The only way to be.

Personal Note:
This year marked my 2nd retreat, and as long as my life allows, I will continue stepping out of the world for the rest of my life. These breaks have proved to be the most valuable tool to really reflect and bring more gratitude and meaning to my life. Although painful at times, I am so grateful for what I have learned in going through the process.

My intention in writing this post is to encourage everyone to take just a little time to step “out of the world” to make you happier and more productive for when you’re back in. Even as little as three days would offer an enormous benefit. It’s nothing special really, you’re just getting to know yourself a little better and discovering what is really going on in your mind, day in, day out, that isn’t so obvious. There are too many distractions and so many things competing for our attention, who has the time to observe what is really going on in there? I promise that it’s time well spent and it will benefit you when you go “back in the world again”.

Benefits, from my experience only. There are many, many more:

1. More freedom and space in your mind, less yucky stuff
2. More joy found in the simple things of life
3. More gratitude and appreciation for the world around you
5. More present & available for your loved ones

Go on, give it a try, it certainly can’t hurt… well, unless that boogie man comes to visit. That will probably hurt. 😉

IMG_3267

 

Home Sweet Home

22 Sunday Jun 2014

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Home, the sanctuary of the heart and physical location of our comfort zone, where stress just melts away, and we can bare all, both literally and figuratively. Over the past 18 years, I have lived in 10 cities located in 4 different states; from the snowy back roads of Western New York, to the city streets of Philadelphia, the frozen lakes of Minnesota, and the sandy beaches of California. Each location, vastly different from the next, yet they share one similarity; I’ve called them all home.

babyI grew up in a small town on the east coast. Jamestown, New York is like none other, standing out in my heart among the rest. With the city’s roots in the arts and theater, I benefited greatly, being pushed out on stage at a very young age. Our home was located on the outskirts of town, and for 17 years, I shared that home with my sister and 2 loving parents. My childhood was nothing short of idyllic and, looking back, I wouldn’t change a single thing about my upbringing. We were, and still are, blessed beyond belief. From our annual traditions, to amazing family and friends, Jamestown will always be the ideal version of what I think of when I say “home”.

Outside of Jamestown, the longest stretch of time I’ve spent in one location is right here in my current home. And although we’ve lived here for 5 years, no matter how much I have tried, or would like to, I have yet to recreate that feeling of “home” I once had in Jamestown, New York. Maybe it’s because my immediate family lives hundreds of miles away or because that “small town” feel is difficult to find amidst the sixth-most populous county in the country. Whatever the reason, it just isn’t the same. I’ve thought about this for the past few weeks, even chatting with my sister, who agrees there is something “cozy” about Jamestown that we have yet to find here in California.

Mason The first few weeks after Mason’s adoption, I remember how painfully unsettled he was. So scared and uncomfortable, he would scream at the site of our cat and dogs. Too young to articulate what was going on, everything and everyone was unfamiliar to him. From sites, to sounds and scents, at 12-months old, he had to completely re-acclimate himself to his new environment. I’m sure it was terrifying. The only experience I’ve had that would remotely compare was a trip to China, where I struggled to find normalcy and community. And although I tried really hard to feel comfortable, when the language barrier is so extreme, you don’t have the luxury of simply getting by as I had in other countries. Simple things, like buying a cup of coffee and getting directions were a challenge. I was in the financial district of Shanghai, and naïve to how few people spoke English. I resorted to showing the taxi driver a few Chinese characters on a map to get from place to place.

China

During Mason’s transition and (to a lesser extent) my experience in China, we were missing that essence of “home”; our familiar surroundings, a warm embrace of comfort, and pure confidence that our basic needs would be met. The truth is the sweet spot of “home” is found in that security. I think of Jamestown and the one big difference between that home and all others to follow. I didn’t need to lift a finger, as my every need was met. From my laundry to my mother’s love-note napkin packed lunches (yes, I was that kid), to every necessity and luxury, my parents carved out a space of lavish security that I never fully appreciated until I left home.

Now, as Derek and I work to create that same space for our children, I finally understand the secret burden my parents faced with bills/expenses, the balance between work and home, and the uneasiness of trying to get everything done. We are all just trying to raise happy and healthy kids, and sometimes it feels like a sprint to the finish line just to get through the week.

It has been 18-years since I left Jamestown and, since then, I have lived hundreds, if not thousands, of miles away from my sister and parents. But in less than a week, my sister and her family will be relocating to Irvine, only 15 minutes away. You can imagine my joy and anticipation, knowing that any occasion, including breakfast, lunch and dinner will be reason enough to get together on a moment’s notice. I will never again have to miss a birthday party, dance recital or special event.

gpaThat blissful ignorance of childhood has a special, and powerful, place in my mind.  And while there is nothing wrong with feeling great about your past, unfortunately, I have created an unhealthy attachment to it, where I perceive those memories to be “better than” my present moment, no matter where I roam. It has been almost 20-years since those days in Western New York, only to return a handful of times, the most recent being over five years ago. I realize that when I finally go home again, so much will have changed. I’m sure it will feel very different to me, and I’ll probably get lost driving from one end of town to the next. No, the city isn’t the same, as old homes have now been sold, and so many close friends and family have since died or moved away. No, I am not the same, as my definition of comfort and security is different than it was back then. So where do I find this “home” that I love?

past

Jamestown represents my ideal, a version that is nowhere to be found, but living on if only in my mind. That version of “home” is like pieces of fabric, woven together by single moments, and when I look back, it resembles a quilt. Even still, I continue to compare it to my present.  18 years later, I have finally realized that my fear of loss and this very attachment I have to recreating my past makes it impossible for me to live fully in the present. Trying to re-create that version of home is the problem and it’s just giving me a reason to be discontent with my life, rather than cultivating gratitude for what I have. During childhood, I didn’t have another basis of comparison; I lived spontaneously, and in the moment. I didn’t fear anything, and maybe that carefree, limitless state of mind is what is now tugging on my heart.

“Home” then, and now, is actively created in my mind through the actions of my parents and family, similar to the ones I now create for my children. On a daily basis, my actions of parenting, participating in the community and sharing that community with my sister and her family, is creating my new version of home. Even if I never again experience that same feeling from childhood, I am part of the living, breathing “home” which offers a new warm embrace.

FamilyEverything I have needed to find “home“, all this time, was right here at my fingertips. Simply finding the courage to embrace it in the present moment, and having enough faith in my future to allow that fearlessness the space to spill over and grow bigger than my fear of losing the past. My wildest dreams and fantasies of the future are possible, if only I can embrace it and abandon my need to control the outcome. Breathe in the security of the future to feel its warm embrace, surrender all thoughts and expectations, and finally just let go. Maybe then it is possible to recreate “home” right here in California, where she’ll finally have a fighting chance to compete in my heart; the only place I can ever really find.

3 Ways to be a Good Mom (everything is awesome!)

16 Sunday Feb 2014

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Last weekend our family went to see the Lego Movie. And although I was a bit distracted by Evie’s unsettled-ness, and her need to run up and down the aisle, I watched and observed as Emmett set off on his adventure. Unaware that the movie’s lesson was aimed squarely at me, I blissfully watched the Lego characters search for the “missing piece”.

While I exited the movie theater, my awareness of this parenting lesson began to sink in. Wasn’t I the same parent that Will Ferrell so artfully portrayed in the movie? Haven’t I been enforcing the same “rules and instructions” on my kids? Aren’t there two boxes of Legos sitting in the corner of Mason’s bedroom, right now, completely off limits to him?

Freedom!As we walked in the door to my house, I asked Mason to find his Legos. I let him know that there were no longer going to be anymore “rules” on how to put Legos together and he could make whatever he wanted. Joyfully, he ran up the stairs and played, for hours, with his new found freedom.

If you read my blog post last week, it may have felt somewhat vague. But if I can explain with context, you will understand. We all have emotional baggage that we are carrying around; in many forms. Anytime we feel a tinge of anger at a person, or an annoyance at the world around us. Anytime we obsess over something, feel greed, pride, jealousy or the need to defend ourselves. All of these things are pointing to something inside of us that needs to be addressed.

Our intentions and motivations are little windows to the soul. When we observe them, and see them for what they are, we learn about ourselves. You see, Legos are just one of my examples to explain how my insecurities come alive.

Mason, the "Master Builder"

Mason, the “Master Builder”

The last time Mason and I played with Legos we opened the box, pulled out the instructions and organized the pieces. Step by step, we read and followed the directions until we created the Police Mobile Unit. I was in my zone; an 8-year old girl again, constructing this amazing creation out of hundreds of little pieces! Mason sat there, and twiddled his thumbs, as his mother so carefully created his Lego toy. While I experienced a surge of new found energy and looked at my project with pride, Mason’s anxiety grew as his mother cautioned him to be careful with his new toy. I held my breath every time he picked it up and even stored it in my bedroom so it wouldn’t get broken!

I don’t know about other moms, but I will speak for myself and say that when I sit down with my kids to complete an art project, I become an obsessed, competitive perfectionist. The 8-year old little girl inside me comes alive, just as she did back then, competing to win the most creative or perfect award. (Of course there is no such thing as a perfect award, but I would still like to try and achieve it!) So why am I surprised when Tilley and Mason compare and contrast their projects, arguing over whose is better, prettier or more creative?

You see the Legos are just a physical representation of my insecurities. When Mason opens a box of Legos, I get anxiety. He mixes the pieces together, loses some, he separates the instructions from the box and starts putting them together whatever way he wants. Okay, first of all, do you know how annoying it is to look for that one missing Lego piece? Mason’s fearless approach to Lego building represents everything that pushes my buttons. He is out of control, messy, and doesn’t follow instructions. It triggers something in me and is the reason his two boxes of Legos sat there for months, collecting dust, in the corner of his room. Now, although I do so unintentionally, I am (sadly) stuffing my son full of anxieties and transferring my emotional baggage to him.

This whole situation reminds me of when the kids had this project, last year, in Kindergarten. The teachers scheduled a few sessions, in the middle of the day, to inform parents about the project. Since I am a working mom, I decided, instead, to ask for the Cliff notes version as I dropped off the kids that morning. The teacher handed me two pieces of wood, one for Tilley & Mason. I was to “secretly” bring it home and surprise them with it. She showed me some examples of how we could decorate the board with stickers and paint. Her examples were elaborate. We were supposed to decorate them with anything that the kids cared about.

The Sunday night before the project was due; I pulled out the boards for the kids to decorate. Instead of being my usual self and going overboard on art supplies, I decided to dig into my supply bins, and pull out some markers and stickers that we already had. Those teacher examples had been way over the top anyway. We didn’t need fancy stickers to have fun with this project!

I restrained myself from wanting to step in; that tendency of the perfectionist normally takes over anytime the kids have a project. Instead, I just watched and enjoyed as they happily decorated their boards with the stickers and supplies they had been given.

On the day of the presentation, the parents were to be in the classroom midday, and Derek and I took time off of work to be there. I had been looking forward to it all week. The teacher asked the parents to come up one-by-one with their kids to present their boards. Slightly confused, I let other parents volunteer before me, so I could just observe.

The first mother came to the front of the classroom, pulled out her board, and read from a letter she wrote to her child. Shifting uncomfortably in my chair, I realized that I misunderstood the assignment. This project was for the mothers to complete and present to their child. Horrified, I looked for the closest exit! I wasn’t really going to leave, but I really wanted to curl up in my chair and die. Derek was confused, and asked me what was wrong. I explained the situation, but he told me to just relax, it was no big deal.

photo 2As I watched the mothers, one by one, present their boards to their children, my anxiety grew. Each board was better than the next. These parents took time and energy to create their boards for their kids. Some were fully painted, and decorated with expensive scrapbook stickers; some even had been strung with ribbon so the child could hang it on their bedroom wall! Mine looked like they had been put together with duct tape and feathers. I was humiliated!!!

I sat there; furious with myself, and furious about the project. I was so distracted with my life, my work, that I didn’t understand the simplest instructions. I felt regret that, amongst this circle of moms, I didn’t have any close friends (yet) that could have clued me in to the assignment. Right there, all at once, it became overwhelming; my regrets, insecurities, anxieties… looking at me squarely in the face, everyone could see it, my greatest fear coming true that I WAS A TERRIBLE MOM!

Finally, the last parents to volunteer, Derek, the kids and I walked to the front of the room and took our seats in the little chairs. I told a story about how we named the kids, and how during Mason’s adoption, Tilley had (surprise!) graced us with her presence. I said a lot of stuff, most of it forgettable by now, but what I do remember was the way the kid’s smiled as I spoke in their classroom. The way they held their boards up, with pride, and happily displayed it for all of their friends.

You see, my kids won’t remember that we did the assignment wrong. In fact, they didn’t notice anything was wrong that day. What they will remember was how mom let them have fun decorating their boards. And how both mommy & daddy came to support them on this day, and spoke in front of their classroom, to their friends and teachers.

Looking back now, does it matter that I didn’t put my heart and soul into that silly little board? Anyway, if I had understood the directions, that board would have been just another one of my endless pursuits of unachievable perfection. Instead, a blessing in disguise, this project taught me a lot about myself. I have been forced to reflect on my own insecurities of failure and why (WHY?!) I equated not understanding the assignment with being a bad mom.

Of course, I know that these things don’t really make me a “bad mom”. And what does it mean to be a “good mom” anyway? I have given this topic some thought, and although I don’t think that I have everything figured out, I think that really “good moms” do three things well. I am sure there are more, but stay with me for a minute…

  1. We let our children be who they are. We do not try to control or direct who our child will turn out to be. We do not think that our child is an extension of ourselves, but rather that they are their own person. As parents, we of course can provide good soil, sunlight and water, but whether they turn out to be a palm or a pine tree has nothing to do with us. It’s only our job to accept them as they are.
  2. We give them unconditional love, and at all times. (Key word: unconditional) We should not put conditions on our love, understanding, support, encouragement, advice, or just a shoulder to cry on. Although this seems obvious and somewhat simple, if you ever attach a condition to anything, then this by definition is NOT unconditional. (Warning: many blog posts will stem from this one!)
  3. We restrain ourselves from passing down all of our fears, baggage and insecurities. We refrain from making the subtle comments, sharing our all too obvious anxieties, so that these things don’t trickle down for them into their adulthood. This is much easier said than done, but if you are aware of it, then you can do a much better job of controlling your speech and actions.

The common thread of Legos and this Kindergarten project is they both fall into Tiffany’s category #3. However, if I am aware of my triggers, and I don’t allow my fears of not being good enough, to pass on to my children, then I am going to (probably) help them to avoid a similar future of insecurity. Hopefully, with awareness, the opposite of oblivion, we can shine a light on our insecurities and we can work with them. Maybe we can even get to the root of them and overcome them, if we’re lucky.

We are all on a journey of self-discovery and the point is to evolve, become better people, so that we can help other people… and hopefully, so that all of us can just be happy.

Once a perfectionist, always a perfectionist. A week after the class presentation, we flipped the boards over, bought our stickers and completed them the "right" way!

Once a perfectionist, always a perfectionist. A week after the class presentation, we flipped the boards over, bought our stickers and completed them the “right” way!