After three weeks home snuggling, my entire world revolving around my little family, I felt done. Sign me up for the next stay at home mom position; this is too hard. I don't have enough to go around. And it's only day two of the semester.
At 7:50am, I walked past the door to the room my best teacher friend used to occupy- until this morning. Now she's all military intelligence awesomeness. Her old door was closed, and she's pretty much the pick-me-up spirit of my teaching world. So that sucked.
At 7:55am, another teacher was in my room crying, after yet another blow to her life. She was telling me she didn't understand- that every time she prayed, something worse happened. How can that be? Did I ever feel that way? I had no answers, and the bell rang to officially start my day.
Seriously. Please let me snuggle and change diapers and answer questions with the difficulty range of why we can't have M&Ms for lunch, like I have the past three weeks.
So I spent the first four periods of the school day (grumpy) trying to stay awake while answering all the questions of 49 sophomores writing the rough drafts of their research papers. And for the record, the sound of simultaneous typing of research papers by my students has always been one of my most favorite sounds. I'm not even lying- it soothes me so much. I was already in danger of falling asleep standing up; that didn't help.
Fifth hour woke me up- physically and emotionally. First of all, the subject was a lot of fun to teach. We took brain hemisphere tests, and we talked about how poetry is a compilation of using both sides of the brain dominant traits. Maybe that sounds boring to you, but it makes for interesting conversations, and it helps me engage my students in an introduction to poetry, and it lets me in on their lives. We discussed poetic techniques, and we found song lyrics to use to search for those techniques on Monday.
And here I am, almost twelve hours later, with still no sleep. I caught myself lying in bed at 1:40am worrying about my kids. So how did I get from wanting to be done to worrying?
It was in the moments of fifth hour, and those that followed in the afternoon.
It was when I got to tell the two decidedly sullen girls hunkered down in the back that one time, way back in college, I learned to skateboard. And I'm goofy-footed. Which they thought was totally cool, and I earned just a teeny bit of respect.
It was when I told my sweet girl with the crazy colored hair that I've always wanted purple highlights. And her eyes brightened like, "Maybe she's not so lame." (By the way, watch out world- this English teacher is going to be rocking some purple highlights soon- if only to brighten those eyes just a little bit more).
It was when I got to explain alliteration as a poetic technique, which is basically a tongue twister. And then, rabbit trail, this isn't alliteration because it doesn't have repeating consonants, but five points extra credit to the first person who can say this fast and right:
1 Smart Feller, he felt smart. 2 smart fellers, they felt smart. 3 smart fellers, they felt smart.
(go ahead, try it. Five points extra credit to you if you get it)
It was when I had a room full of laughing teenagers, who can ALL tell you what alliteration is now, despite my rabbit trail. And maybe, just maybe, they got to forget their troubles for a moment.
It was when I got to proclaim to the room that this awesome girl, because her test results were exactly half and half for her brain dominance, was really special. This girl had the ability to rock this poetry unit. It was when she was grinning and feeling important, while just yesterday she wrote me three paragraphs about how tired she was. Her parents and home life are not great, and she takes care of her siblings almost full time. She feels overlooked and overused. But in that moment- she was the special one.
It was when we had five extra minutes, and I looked up to realize I had a group of kids clustered around my desk wanting to talk to me (and oh, how I wanted to talk to them- posting grades could totally wait).
It was when they asked what I did for New Years, and I told them I was stuck on the couch with strep throat while Daniel took care of me. It was then when we talked for five minutes about how a true man doesn't care about missing out on parties or the NYE kiss or whatever it may be; he cares for those who depend on him.
It was when I got to see some of my Lost Boys, as I call them to Daniel, in study hall, and ask how they were doing.
It was long after, when we ate dinner with some teacher friends from two other schools, and we were reminded that Christmas Break for some doesn't mean what it means for us. For me it meant two glorious weeks with my loves- cooking and cleaning and loving on them. Plus three snow days? C'mon. Life is heaven.
But for some of my kids, Christmas Break is a prison. It's a two week period trapped in a hard life, a painful life, a miserable life. And then three extra snow days. For some of my kids, it's a hard you and your kids will never know.
And here I was this morning, angry not to be well-slept and half-showered, all the while with a full stomach and a full heart. Here I was this morning ready to throw the towel in because it was uncomfortable for me to leave my amazing home life.
And here I am, at 2:09am unable to sleep for worry of my kids' discomfort, and the only way I feel like sleep is possible is after pouring out my heart.
This is not a post about how important working moms are, or even how important I am. Someone else could do my job- probably way better than I can. This is not a slight against stay at home moms; I think that's an awesome job, and I hope I get to do it someday. I really do.
But for now, I'm called to teach. It's hard for me to accept that calling some days. I mean, it's not like I'm leading kids to Jesus left and right. I'm not fixing their problems, and I'm sure as heck not the best educator who could be preparing them for college or life. Most of them will not even look back on my time with them as intensely as I will. For the most part, I feel like I'm doing nothing at all influential.
But yet, in all of those moments, I find peace. It's not a comfortable peace, but a peace despite discomfort. My heart hurts for moments I miss with Sawyer sometimes. My heart breaks for the kids I can't change. Sometimes it's like watching someone you care about self-destruct through a sound-proof window. No matter what you do, you can't save them. That sucks. But oh, how I love them. So I'll keep banging on that window and screaming at the top of my lungs with purple hair.
And maybe, just maybe, the kids in those oh-so-hard lives will be able to come into my classroom and feel that peace that's only God-given for forty-three minutes a day.
So argue about the Common Core State Standards. Complain about the terrible state of public education. Condemn teachers' unions, merit pay, whatever educational issue you deem worthy of your contempt.
Those things are important. But they don't matter in the end. Do you see the difference, or is this my 2am brain being strange?
My kids matter- more than any educational decision, academic standard, or school issue.
My kids matter- more than my desire to be a stay at home mom or a part-time working mama.
My kids matter- more than my sometimes overwhelming desire to say no to God's call for me to teach right now.
My kids matter- more than my sleep and state of comfort.
So as long as I'm called to teach, I will do whatever I can to keep those moments coming. And for the record, this type of emotional overload is. every. single. day. of teaching.
I am so thankful for my ability to teach. I am thankful for a husband who supports me working wholeheartedly and takes on at least fifty percent of our home workload to allow me to do that. Not to mention the way he knows my kids' names as well as I do, and gives me freedom with our money to meet any needs I see. I'm thankful for a childcare provider right across the street who loves my baby with the love of Jesus in the seven hours of the day I don't get to. I'm thankful for my mom and other various people who love on Sawyer the days Debbie can't. He is DEFINITELY not lacking anything.
And I'm so thankful for these kids that God has entrusted to me 180 days of the year. They make my day with their hilariousness. They love on my baby whenever they see him. They trust me with their hearts on paper. My heart could never be big enough to love them back the way they deserve, but I hope it leads them to the One whose heart is big enough.
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