On Teaching. On Parenting.
Adults like to ask children what they'd like to be when they grow up. I'm not sure why. I guess we think it's cute when they say things like, "I want to be the boss of the astronauts," or "a nurse like my mommy," or even "Pop-Tart designer," which, if I'm being honest, has always been and will always be my personal dream career. When Young Christy was asked what she'd like to be way back when, rest assured that the word teacher never crossed her lips. Ever. Sure, I'd play teacher with my sister sometimes, but it was really only because I liked to boss her around. I was good at school. I loved school. School was my safe place, but I never, ever wanted to be a teacher. The thought crossed my mind the older I got, but I'd quickly push it from my mind because, well, who really wants to be a teacher? Honestly. Who wants to take on all the work that being a teacher entails on top of the fact that teaching must be done with fairly large groups of (insert unpleasant adjective of choice) children on top of the fact that, after taxes, teachers collect about $5.87 in pay each month? "Not this girl," I'd think smugly as I researched the best Pre-Med programs on the East Coast. But we all know how that one turned out. College Christy found herself in Calculus and Inorganic Chem during her first semester of college and said, "Uh, no thanks." So what was an English/Fine Arts (read: NOT Pre-Med) major to do? Not teach. Anything but teach. But as time went on, I found myself having to push the thought of being a teacher from my mind more often until I stopped pushing. I allowed myself to entertain the thought. I looked at Teach for America. I attended an informational meeting about the M.A.T. program at UNC. I looked at lateral entry requirements. But I always talked myself out of it. It took graduating from college, applying/interviewing for about 1,768 jobs, getting 0 of said jobs, taking a job in retail just to pay the rent, and working said retail gig for a year before I finally relented. "Okay, Inner Teacher. You win. I've been ignoring you for twenty-two years. Sorry about that. Now let's do this."
So do this we did. Just a few weeks after crying uncle, I was back in Charlotte and enrolled in UNCC's School of Education. I quickly discovered that Teacher People are my people. I really was a teacher all along; It'd just taken me a couple of decades to realize it. Once I embraced my calling, I excelled. I loved my classes and the people in them. I was dedicated to earning my teaching degree. I worked a full-time office job during the day. I worked through lunch just so that I could leave work an hour early to drive to UNCC to get to my evening classes. I would get home around 9:00 most nights only to do the exact same thing the next day, but I loved it. When I was a student teacher, I'd stay at school until 7:00 P.M. most days creating and perfecting lessons and resources. It was exhausting and exhilarating at the same time. I kicked all the butts and took all the names, earning praise from pretty much everyone - students, administrators, parents, professors. I was in my element. I distinctly remember my university supervisor saying something to me during one of our debriefing sessions after an observation. He told me that I was great at what I was doing but that I was going to burn out pretty quickly if I didn't learn how to balance my work and my life. I nodded and agreed, but I paid it little mind and continued staying until 7:00 P.M. most nights well into my second year as a fully licensed, real deal classroom teacher.
Enter Lucy.
I needed to go back to work. It was only my third year teaching. Patrick had just gotten his administrative position that summer. But, honestly, I wanted to go back to work. I was so good at what I did. I enjoyed it so much! I spent the weeks leading up to Lucy's late July birth penned up in my hot, second floor classroom painstakingly crafting detailed daily lesson plans for my sub. When the teacher workdays began three weeks after her birth, I was at school working even though I was still technically on maternity leave. I was there at Orientation. I wanted the kids and the parents to know who I was and that this was still my class even though they wouldn't see me again until October. When I was at home with my newborn, I wondered how things were going; and when my maternity leave came to an end, I dropped Lucy off with her grandparents at an ungodly hour when it's called "morning" but could easily pass for night and assumed my identity as "English Teacher" once again.
During my planning period on the first day back from maternity leave, one of my co-workers popped her head into my classroom. "So, how are you?" she said with one of those pitying looks on her faces. "I'm good," I said cheerily. "No, really, how are you?" "Uhhh...I'm good?" "How many times have you called to check on the baby?" "Well...actually, come to think of it...none." "None!? You haven't called to check on your baby?!" "No. Is that bad?" "Well, it's not bad, just...not what I expected you to say." Oh. She was fine. I knew she was fine. She was being doted upon by her grandparents; of course she was fine. So I should call to find out that...she's fine? Nah. She's fine.
***
Halloween fell on a weekday that year, and I'd only been back at work for a couple of weeks. I wanted to get out of there before 5:00 to make it home in time to change Lucy into her costume, take some cute pictures, show her off to her grandparents, and get her bathed and asleep by her usual bedtime. As I was wrapping up things, my classroom phone rang. I decided, against my better judgment, to answer it. My "Hello" was met by an irate parent wanting to know why she was only finding out that her daughter was failing at the end of the 9 weeks. In between her expletive-laced mutterings, I explained to the mother that I had only recently come back from maternity leave and honestly knew very little about what had transpired in my classroom prior to my return. I also explained that she should've seen at least two progress reports prior to my return that should've reflected her daughter's failure to complete assignments in my absence and its negative effect on her grade. She proceeded to cuss me like a dog and call me every name in the book. Again, let me reiterate, I had been back at work for two weeks. I barely even knew all of my students' names by that point, let alone had time to contact each of their parents. How was this my fault? I was flabbergasted by her palpable anger toward me. I hadn't even been her daughter's teacher when all of this was going on. After several minutes of a one-sided conversation that consisted mostly of yelled expletives, the conversation was over. I didn't make it out by 5:00. I cried all the way home. I put Lucy in a pumpkin sleeper, took a handful of pictures, and went to bed. I allowed work to ruin my child's first holiday.
***
Lucy started daycare shortly after she turned one. I still wanted to work, despite the fact that leaving her at daycare instead of with her grandparents gave me slight internal pangs of guilt. She was at a great daycare. Her teachers loved her. She loved her teachers. She loved playing with the other kids. She was learning new things. It was great -until she hit an attachment phase and hit it hard. Each day I'd pull my sleeping toddler from her crib, dress her lethargic little body, rouse her enough to get her to eat, and drive her to daycare just before dawn. She would start crying and clinging to me before we even got into the building. By the time we entered the drop-off room, she was in full meltdown mode. Mommy, Mommy, Mommayyyyyyy she'd scream as she clung to my legs. I'd have to peel her off of me and run toward the door every morning. Sometimes she'd even chase me into the hall before one of the teachers grabbed her. I felt like a total ass. Hearing your child scream for you as you sprint for the exit every. single. morning tends to wear on one's resolve. During a particularly unruly class period that year, I'd had enough of my students' poor behavior. After using every ounce of patience I had at that particular moment in time, I finally snapped and yelled, "LOOK. I don't leave a screaming, panicked two-year old with strangers that I pay to take care of her every day so that I can come here and be your babysitter. STRAIGHTEN UP OR GET. OUT." And I meant it. I really meant it. Hearing her tiny, frantic voice crying out for me every day when I left her made me a little less patient, a little more resentful, a lot more tired as the days dragged on.
I relished having the summers with Lucy. I kept her out of daycare as often as I could, but I would still take her a couple days per week so that she could play with her friends and I could accomplish things like grocery shopping without carting around a toddler screaming, "I WANT FRUIT SNACKS!!!" at a conspicuous volume. (I'm sure the other patrons of Aldi are forever grateful for that one.) Her daycare teacher at the time regularly told me how much more well-behaved, happy, and cooperative Lucy was during the summer; she fully believed that it was due to the time that she got to spend at home with me and Patrick. I knew she was right because I noticed a change in her during the summers as well. On one hand, this made me feel good: my child wants to spend time with me; she would choose to spend time with me over a room full of other 2 1/2 year olds. That counts for something, right? On the other hand, this made me feel terrible. My child misbehaves at school for want of me? She is less happy because I can't spend time with her? Her psychological well-being is suffering because all I have left for her at the end of the work day is a handful of emotional crumbs?
***
I love teaching. I've always loved it, and I probably always will, but teaching (the action), and Teaching (the job) are less similar than one might imagine. Of course Teaching involves teaching, but Teaching with a capital T is so much more. Little t teaching entails detailed lesson planning, collecting and creating resources, and facilitating said lessons/resources with students. That's the part I love; that's the part all teachers love. Big T Teaching is paperwork and red tape and Common Core and testing and standards and evaluations and differentiation and documentation and benchmarks and the list goes on. On top of that, there is a room full of children (in my case, teenagers) for which one is responsible for at least 90 minutes of each day who are all over the spectrum in terms of abilities and backgrounds. Some kids are loved and supported at home, and they come to school ready to learn. Some kids aren't loved and supported at home; they come to school to find the love and attention they so desperately need, and (gasp) sometimes they go about it in inappropriate ways. Some of these kids have food allergies so severe that they carry epipens with them, and I have to be alert and aware of their symptoms at all times so that I can jab a needle in their thighs if something goes wrong. Some of these kids have seizures, and I have to be alert and aware of their symptoms at all times so that I can keep them from harm if something goes wrong. Some of these kids have diabetes, and I have to be alert and aware of their symptoms at all times so I can get them medical attention immediately if something goes wrong. Sometimes I really have to stop and think about how I'd keep all of these kids safe if someone came to hurt us all. On top of that, sometimes kids come to school hungry. Sometimes kids come to school exhausted because they've been up all night taking care of a younger sibling because Mom was working third shift or she was out on a bender or they haven't seen her for three days. Sometimes kids come to school high. Sometimes kids come to school scared to go home. Sometimes kids come to school, but they come late because they forgot to dry the only pair of pants they own the night before. And sometimes I can't sleep at night when I really really think about those kids. And then I wonder why I have a messy house, a restless mind, and a child who is starved for my attention.
When I got pregnant with Emmett and I made it to a point where I felt safe enough to start thinking about a future with two kids, something felt different. Stay home. I'm sorry, what? Stay home. No, seriously, what, inner monologue? I said STAY HOME, WOMAN. Geez. (Really though, it pretty much went like that. As previously mentioned, I tend to push things out of my mind.) That burning desire to go back to work that I felt after Lucy was born was buried under all of the concerns chronicled above. But that doesn't mean that I didn't (and still don't) feel conflicted about it. I love teaching. I'm a good teacher. Who will teach my kids if I don't? Out of all the "teacher friends" I made at UNCC, only half of us are still currently teaching. (Disclaimer: I pass no judgment on any one of you if you're reading this because I. get. it.) Teacher turnover is a serious problem, and a teacher shortage of epic proportions is looming ever closer. But...but...but...what do I do? I was faced with the harshest of realities: up until this point I had tried to be an excellent mother, wife, and teacher. I had failed. I could not fully devote myself to all three at once. If I were focused on teaching, I was neglecting my child (and my house). If I were focused on my child, I was neglecting my teaching. And don't even mention my marriage. Poor Patrick gets whatever scraps are left over after I've divvied myself out to everything else. What was another child going to do to this equation? I had to do a lot of cliched soul-searching to realize that it's way. too. much. All of it. All of the things. They're just way too much for me to bear. I had to evaluate every aspect of my life and face the disappointing reality that, in order to be great at one thing, I have to suck at another. Teaching and Parenting and Living are way too important to me for me to suck at any of them. I don't do mediocre. So...something has to give.
I made the decision to take a hiatus from teaching well before Emmett was born, and I know it's what is best for me and my family right now, but it was still ridiculously difficult to sign that form for Human Resources. It makes me emotional when I look online and see my job posted. I became irrationally irritated when I had to turn my computer in earlier than everyone else because "the new person needs it." And as many times as I've sat in my classroom with my forehead pressed to the wooden laminate surface of my desk in utter frustration, exhaustion, or some combination of both, taking all those posters off the wall, moving all the books off the shelf, packing up all of my stuff, and locking the door for the last time made me want to weep.
But...here's another big but...I get to be just Mom. For a whole year. Maybe more. Who knows. My plan is to be back for the school year after this one, but I'm honestly not really worried about it. Even in the brief time I've been privileged to be a mother to two kids, I've learned so much about grace. I have screwed up. Let me just tell you. I have done some idiotic stuff since February. Nothing major. I haven't ruined anyone's life, thank goodness, but I am a hot mess (and not the good kind). I am ever so grateful that His mercies are new each morning because I need them. I need me some mercies, Lord Jesus! I have tried to be my version of perfect for so long, for my whole adult life, really, and it was a bit of a bitter pill to come to the realization that my ideal is impossible...but...life. goes. on. And I'm so thankful that it does. The four years I've had Lucy have passed at a frighteningly rapid pace, terrifyingly even. I missed so much of her baby years because I was busy giving myself to other people - a worthy cause, certainly, but she needed more of me than I gave her. I need to make it up to her, and I need to keep from making the same mistake with Emmett.
So, my friends, I look forward to regaling you with stories and lessons from stay-at-home-momdom for the next year. I look forward to learning new things (like how to live on a shoestring budget; okay, well, maybe I don't look forward to that, but I at least welcome the challenge). I look forward to finding some of the pieces of myself I've given up along the way (like that whole Art degree thing). But mostly, I'm just looking forward to experiencing this season in my life as fully as possible.
s you always do, you will do an excellent "job" as stay at home mom. I admire you for your choice. I did the same thing for my children and have never regretted it. Enjoy!!!
ReplyDelete