week 27 of 40

You are living your own story.  I saw this on Pinterest this morning (what a ridiculously addictive site of ideas – many of which we may pin and pin and never actually do anything with-ha ha).

I know that, for me, this sentence could not be truer.  You are living your own story. 

I am sitting here on a quiet Monday morning-which feels like a Sunday.  My husband and daughter are away, and I have had a lot of time to think, process, do, reflect…

It’s funny because each time, I get to the same answer.  This is the way I am doing it.  No apologies to anyone.

Tomorrow, I will begin my 9^th year as an elementary teacher.  If you are doing the math-me being 40 and only in my 9^th year doesn’t match according to society’s crazy timeline that states that everyone must begin his career at 23. More on that at a later time.

This year, I am switching to second grade.  If you ask me to my face how I feel about that, you will hear all kinds of excited expressions.  Here’s what I will say in this forum—I am ready for a change. *That* is the truth.

The thing about teaching is that you have all these ideas and plans—places you want to take their little minds. My head swirls and swirls with all of the possibilities.  By definition, I am a planner. I like to plan, to lay things out, to match the outfit to the shoes. Yet, when I look back on who I was 9 years ago … I can see what pieces stayed, and I can see what pieces were left on the drawing room floor.

I still love the first moment a child looks into your eyes—with trust—the kind of trust no adult will ever show you—a child will look at you with absolute conviction that you, the teacher, know everything about anything. Yet, with that comes a responsibility that I will liken to being a parent.  So, now that I am a parent, I can say for those who aren’t…that look that a child gives you—well, that is a lot of what I feel inside now, all the time. *That* is the incredible feeling I have spoken about.  *That* is the best way to describe it.…  J

I still love the moment when a reluctant child—the one who is afraid to try—achieves the seemingly impossible. It is a twinkle, a glow, a sparkle.  I am not sure what happens to us later in life—why we lose that special glitter because it is-in a word-beautiful.

I still love the excitement that children show for the smallest things—an extra recess, one more chapter of a favorite book, playing a quiz game, picture day, pizza day…

I still love the moments when I scrap every piece of the plan to paint, to read a favorite book, to play a game…or to take a nature walk when the seasons change. I still love when in the middle of a lesson, after hearing their ideas and thoughts, I look at the class, and say, “you know what we could do”…or “what if we….” …or “what do you think about…”

I love love love the moments when we all get the giggles.  When we have to just take 5 minutes to laugh it all out.

I will forever love the moments when a reader realizes, “I’m READING”…when the math problem finally makes sense “OHHHH, I get it!”, when the written story of a child makes me cry happy tears or makes another student cry happy tears.  I love when they congratulate and celebrate each other with such genuine generosity.

And at the end of the 178 days, they still look to you with that same trust. What a privilege, and honor, and a huge responsibility …

What did I let go of?  Perfect copies, scripted lessons, getting upset over a tray of magnetic letters dumped for the 5^th time, staying for hours and hours after school walking in circles trying to get it “right,” crooked word walls, trying to make everything the most creative (and forgetting the point), beating myself up when I know I did my best and still fell short….

All I have is my best.  If I want them to realize this and feel secure in the notion of trying, not giving up, of persevering , then I have to show it.

Every year, we make these little mottos to get us motivated.  Usually they just “come” to me.  I have had a wide range of mottos over the years…This year, mine is simple:  “I’m doing me.”  It means that I am trusting myself to do the best I can in all areas of my life—a life that is changing all the time. With so many pieces on my plate, I know that if I hold onto the things that matter the most to me, the rest can roll on the floor, and I don’t have to apologize to anyone for that.  

I am living my own story.