My Western Sky

It was not an easy night at the Bailey casa. Some background: Our sweet Peyton has many gifts, but neatness is not one. She constantly leaves what I call "Pieces of Peyton" in her wake--hair clips, popcorn kernels, socks, a stack of Junie B. Jones books, a random Uno card. Because she is the baby of the family, and I've let go of some of my high-strung-neat-freak tendencies, she's gotten off pretty easy (don't judge me). But in the last year, I've realized that we are raising  a borderline slob. So for the sake of her future college roommate, I decided it was time to get serious.  We have been working with Peyton on cleaning up after herself over the past year, and it's become apparent that the girl is fully capable of being neat when she wants to be, but if she's not in the mood then she would rather not bother (it's kind of a theme with her). We've tried everything: sticker charts, jars of coins, taking away TV time...it's two ste

I found this in Peyton's room this morning. Here's a translation for those who aren't fluent in reading 1st grade handwriting:  When I grow up I want to teach kindergarteners how to read. I know it will be a lot of fun teaching kindergarten. I want to be just like my kindergarten teacher Mrs. Groshans. She taught me a lot. I just might be like her some day. I just might.  This made me smile because it was unprompted, precious, and written straight from Peyton's sweet heart. Of course, I immediately texted this picture to her beloved Kindergarten teacher, who happens to be a dear friend of mine. I think it made her day.  However, I admit that an ugly, unsettling thought crept into my mind: Do I really want my daughters to grow up to be teachers? You have to understand something about my side of the family: We all work in education in some capacity, and we all started out as classroom teachers. My parents each racked up over 30 years in the high school classroom