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As I bring this series to a close, I find myself reflecting not on milestones or achievements, but on moments—the ordinary, often unnoticed moments that quietly shape a life in education. After decades in classrooms and leadership, rise has ultimately come to mean legacy.

Valentine’s Day often arrives wrapped in pink paper and sugar. Cards are exchanged, candy bowls are filled, and love is reduced to something we buy or post. But as a mom, a wife, a former principal, and the author of Educate the Heart, I’ve learned that the most meaningful expressions of love don’t come from stores or slogans. They come from conversations.

The first time I watched the Opalite video, I didn’t think about standards or pacing guides.I thought about children.

As a former elementary principal, kindergarten teacher, author of Educate the Heart, and mom of two young adults—one 16 and one 20—I’ve had the privilege of watching how children grow into their understanding of the world. I’ve also seen what happens when we only offer them pieces of the story instead of the whole truth.

As an educator, former elementary principal, and early childhood teacher, I’ve heard the concern more times than I can count:

There’s a quote that’s been sitting heavy with me lately:

Today is Winnie the Pooh Day, and like so many “small” calendar moments, it carries a weight of memory for me that feels anything but small. Winnie the Pooh wasn’t just a character in our home—he was a constant presence, a quiet comfort, and a gentle teacher during my children’s earliest years.

As the year continues, rise has come to mean something even more personal to me: staying. Staying grounded. Staying hopeful. Staying in this work with integrity and joy.

Every January, my calendar tells me it is Martin Luther King Jr. Day.But my heart reminds me it is so much more than that.

As I published my reflection on choosing rise as my word for the year, of course I knew I had to return to it—not as a finished thought, but as an ongoing practice. That is the nature of rising. It does not end with intention; it continues through consistency, especially on the days when the work feels heavy.

I’ve worn many hats in education over the years—classroom teacher, elementary principal, instructional leader, curriculum promoter, and now, once again, a kindergarten teacher. I’ve also worn the most important hat of all: mom. And across every role, one truth has remained constant: children cannot learn well when their hearts are overwhelmed.

Each year, I choose one word—not as a resolution, but as a guide. A word that grounds my work, sharpens my focus, and gently calls me forward when the days feel heavy or rushed. For 2026, my word is Rise. You may already know this if you read my last post or follow me on any of my social media channels.