Another week of school is behind us. Another week of going as fast as a body can go, of planning, planning, planning…meetings, meetings, meetings.
A week of little ones who really need to pee…a lot. A week of sleepy six-year olds. A week of I miss my momma and my belly is growling. A week of can we go home after math? (And of course my answer is a resounding YES!)
Because I’m tired, too. And I’m getting older and I have to pee a lot, too. By three o’clock, my belly is growling loud enough for the neighbors to hear, and even though my momma has been gone for eight years, I want my momma, too. I want her to hug me and tell me that it’s all going to be all right.
The thing is…I’m NOT tired of the six-years olds. They are the only thing that keeps me going back to work. Their hugs make me feel better. Their smiles are my life-line, my floatation device when I’m drowning in bureaucratic FLUFF (to use a much nicer word than what I’m thinking).
Teaching is a changing profession. We are steered by Common Core now…a changing of what we teach and more importantly, how we teach it. For a teacher starting her twentieth year, that is a hard pill to swallow. Was everything I was doing before wrong, not good enough? The answer is no, but it still has to change.
So…this week I’m trying, by golly, I’m trying. I’m giving this ridiculously long comprehension test to, let me remind you, six-year olds, and on question number one, what should occur? A nose bleed from hell. Thankfully not from my nose. I’m telling you…this poor boy’s nose began to gush blood in every direction. I scoot him down the hall to the nurse…he comes back on question five…and proceeds to sprinkle blood over at least twenty tissues for the remainder of the thirty question test.
That’s on top of all the other needs of my kids…the other nineteen who need help, too.
Here’s my dare to any educational leader from the nation’s capital or our state’s capital: come spend one day in my room and try to do it all. Be their teacher, their nurse, their stand-in mother’s when they miss their own. Be it all and raise your test scores, dang it. And if you really want a taste, I’ll triple dog dare you to stay for a whole week!
Don’t judge me by a number, a number that doesn’t in any way reflect what is truly going on in my room from minute to minute, day to day. That’s what makes me tired and overwhelmed and simply befuddled at how to move forward.
That being said, I can still think back on my week and smile. Imagine this if you can…everyone’s eating snacks (because once again, their bellies are growling), and they’re smiling and munching and whispering to their neighbors, when suddenly two little ones rush to my desk. One is ready to tattle, the other is in a panic, already trying to explain before the other one can sufficiently tell on him. They’re both talking at the same time, really fast and really loud. Finally, I hear, “His glue stick is in his water bottle.” Sure enough, ‘somehow’ he’d managed to drop his glue stick down into his water bottle and couldn’t get it out. I shooed the little girl away and just looked at the stricken boy. I asked him, “What are you going to do now?” He shrugged, “Don’t know, Mrs. Rackley, but I’ve gotta have that glue stick back and I’m still thirsty.”
We saved the glue stick, and he got his water from the fountain instead.
Mercy. Say a prayer for your child’s teacher tonight. They need it!