A Letter to My Grieving Student

Things are hard right now.  I know.  You’re grieving your best friend.  You are mad at everything and everybody, and it comes in waves; you are mad at your brothers, your mom, your dad, your childhood. You are not thinking clearly or making the best choices.  You are angry at the world.  And here I am, some teacher who “doesn’t get it” trying to encourage you to stay in school.  Some lady who just doesn’t get it, right?

Wrong.

Here’s what I get:  I get that you are smart.  So smart, that you figure out ways to act like you aren’t.  So smart that you are able to miss weeks of school at a time, but then pick right up and understand the work.  So smart that you don’t want to show it.  I get that your family track record for finishing up school is not the greatest.  I know your brothers.  I know your mom, and I’ve seen your mom cry before because she loves you boys and feels like her hands are tied.  I’ve seen your mother break down and cry the ugly cry at a parent teacher conference because she didn’t know what to do with your oldest brother.  So don’t pull the “my mom doesn’t care” card here.  It doesn’t work.  She does.  And when I talked to her at the wake the other night, all she talked about was you.  How worried she was about you.  How much she wanted you to finish school.  How smart you are.  And she’s right.  But if you use this death, this terrible untimely, tragedy of a death of your best friend to seal the deal and never return to graduate, you’re taking the easy way out. It’s easy to sit at home and do…whatever the heck you will do.  Maybe you’ll clean up around the house while your mom is at work.  Maybe you’ll go look for a job.  Maybe you’ll help take care of your little sister.  More likely, you’ll play video games all night, sleep all day, and then repeat the cycle.

Here’s what else I get: taking the easy way out now, the whole “my life sucks, I give up” way out will make your life a thousand times more difficult in the long run.  You’ll meet someone one day.  You’ll have kids one day.  You’ll need to support the people you love, and yes, I’m sure you’d get by by finding employment somewhere.  But man, I’ve been on both sides of financial security in my life.  I’ve been part of the working poor and I’ve been financially stable, and I can tell you that being part of the working poor is no way to live.  It’s stressful, it’s a burden that is always on your mind, it’s demoralizing, and it works its way into every activity that you can or cannot do with your family.  By deciding today, that you can’t finish school because “it’s too hard” is putting your future family at a disadvantage from the start.  Treat the people you love with more respect than that.  Especially your mother, who goes to work every day to provide you with a life that you seem to be perfectly OK in showing little respect for.

Another thing I get:  your best friend loved you like a brother.  You two were so close that you called each other’s mothers, “mom.”  You were so close that all I had to do is say two words into a sentence and you would know what story I was about to tell about the other.  You were so close that every decision you made, you made together. If one of you missed school, the other likely was absent that day as well.  He is gone.  And it is devastating.  It is terrible and sad, and his void will leave these classrooms a little quieter.  His laughter and wit will leave the school a little dim.  And it sucks.  I know.  But your spirit doesn’t need to die too.  Do great things with your life for him.  Sit in your classes, show off your intelligence, make us laugh, make us proud for him.  Live your life and all the great experiences you will have for him.  Live your life for both of you.  Make him proud of you, because that is exactly what he would want.  Your potential is worth more than playing video games all night long.

And finally: it will be hard.  You will be out of your comfort zone, and being uncomfortable is often construed as being “hard.”  And when things get hard is when people quit.  But YOU.CAN.DO.THIS. You need to do this.  You need to this for your mother, your brothers, your little sister, your best friend, your other friends who are watching you, and the nay-sayers who have brushed you off.  Prove those guys wrong.  Prove all of us that yes, you can rise above the crap circumstances of your life and do the things that are hard.

You are stoic and tough.  But when I hugged you at the wake, your voice wavered and cracked and you rested your cheek on top of my head, and I know that you need us. You need to know that you don’t have to be tough all the time.  And those who believe in you, those who know you can, are here to support you and help you along the way.

So listen to this crazy lady who “doesn’t get it” and all of the other teachers and adults who feel the same as me.  We.believe.in.you.

Now get your butt back in these classrooms and do the right thing.

Photo courtesy of Pexels

Photo courtesy of Pexels

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The Story of Siblings and the Sisterhood of Sisters

Little sisters, we are an interesting lot. When we were little, we were the girls who were tagging along, eavesdropping, stealing clothes from our big sisters, keeping up with our big brothers, and according to our older siblings, always getting away with everything. We were coined as annoying, whiny, loud, and begrudgingly: cute. We were shoved in the uncomfortable seats in the car for long car rides (you know–the middle of the backseat, over the hump. The WORST),  given hand me downs, and rode the bikes that our older sisters rode that were once really cool (hello, hot pink and black banana seat Huffy), but lost its coolness once we started riding them. As we all had different childhoods, most of us little sisters all have one thing in common: we adored, admired, and wanted nothing more than to emulate our older sisters.

Older sisters who are reading this, take note: your little sisters loved you.  We watched you get ready, hang out with your friends, apply lipstick, learn to drive, gossip on the phone. We paid attention to the music you liked, prom dresses you circled in Seventeen Magazine, the new diet you were trying out, Buns of Steel VHS tapes you bought, what boy you were kissing downstairs while you were supposed to be babysitting us, and we all hands down, thought you were the most beautiful girl to ever walk the earth. And we heard this, too. We heard the compliments and comments from our parents’ friends.  “She’s so beautiful!”  “Honor roll again?” “You must be so proud!” All of this while us little sisters were a few steps behind.  Some of us were in our awkward middle school phase. Scrawny, long limbed, bony-kneed, adorned with a mouth full of metal braces. Some of us were in high school hearing from our teachers, “Oh, you’re X’s sister? Well!  Welcome!” Some of us were in elementary school just waiting to get cool enough to be like you.

The crew circa 1980. Older brother Dan, older sister Holly, and me.

The crew circa 1980. Older brother Dan, older sister Holly, and me.

And us little sisters, we tried.  We tried to be like our olders.  But it never really worked out quite right, because we weren’t you.  We didn’t have your brains, or your style, or whatever the heck it was that made you, you.  So us littles, we did what we had to do to be us.  And most of us paved our way out of the shadow that in our heads, you cast on us.  You didn’t, olders.  We just thought you did because in our minds, you were larger than life.  Some of us littles, we became creative and artsy.  Some of us became athletes.  Most of us became a little more carefree and outgoing and laid back.  And while you olders were becoming adults and getting married and having babies, us littles were getting a little nuts. We were finishing up high school, or in college, or 22 and being what you perceived as irresponsible, and young, and carefree.  We were at the beach when you were at work. We were getting home at 3 AM when you were changing diapers at 3 AM.  We were rolling up to family parties on a Sunday afternoon with a Tylenol in hand from the night before. We were being what you were just a few years before, but what seemed like an entire lifetime for you. And we made really awesome aunts.  We took your kids on zoo trips, slumber parties, to the movies, and showered them with gifts.  We were fun and energetic and excited about these new little creatures in our lives.  We loved our new nieces and nephews and we loved handing them back to you at the end of the day.

And then we entered adulthood too. We found jobs. We got engaged. We had weddings and babies and bought houses.  And we turned to you every step of the way. You were our sounding board. You had been through all of this already so you were the expert. And you made awesome aunts.  You actually knew what you were doing, so when we needed to shower and hadn’t slept in five weeks, you came over and let us shower.  You held the baby like a pro, knew how to swaddle, and bounced and cooed like a natural.  You cooked us dinner while holding the baby and mopping the floor while we watched in awe.  We messed up, and you cleaned up our messes, because that’s what you’ve always done for us.

Because all of our lives, as we were busy admiring you, you were busy loving us.  You were busy rooting for us, hoping we’d be a little different from you, celebrating our successes, consoling us in our disappointments, secretly bragging about your little sister to your friends. You always believed in us and waited for us (sometimes impatiently) to figure life out. And now, we have.  But we couldn’t have done it without our sisters.

From the little sisters everywhere, the carefree ones, the outgoing funny girls, the weirdos, the artsy laidback ladies of your life: we love you, big sisters.  Thank you for paving the way for us.

*big brothers, don’t worry.  I’ve got you covered in the next post :)

Sisters and friends today. Holly is my rock.

Sisters and friends today. Holly is my rock.

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-Shannon (Mrs. MB)

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What to Expect When You’re Expecting: The Eye Rolling and Mumbling Years

Before I had children, I knew exactly how I was going to parent them.  I knew the relationship I was going to have with my boys and the relationship I would have with my girl, and I knew that we would love each other unconditionally and I would support them in every decision they made, and play all day when they were little, and hang out with them when they were teenagers, and be the matriarch and legacy of a strong family and the rest is history.

Of course, this was all before I had kids.

And then I had my son.  And then I had my other son.  And then I was raising a toddler and a newborn and my whole “play all day” plan went to shit.  And then I had my daughter. And then I was raising three children under six and my whole, “I know what I’m doing” plan went to shit because there is no way you can do it all, and hold everything together while raising three children under six, one of whom is a newborn and doesn’t sleep ever (and I mean, E-V-E-R) because she apparently wants nothing more than to torture her new family like the sweet girl that she is.

And so here I am now; three children who are 12, 10, and 6.  They sleep now (insert angels singing) and are pretty self-reliant and can do all the things like tie their own shoes and wipe their own butts, but parenthood is nowhere near easy.  Instead of a day filled with chasing babies and toddlers and lost sippy cups, the days are filled with fighting siblings and hormonal attitudes.  Testing the boundaries from my oldest, IRRATIONAL DECIBAL OF VOICE VOLUME from my youngest, and my poor sweet middle—he just craves attention but goes about it by trying to annoy both older brother and younger sister. So my day starts with patience and ends with “GET TO BED!  I’VE HAD IT AND EVERYONE NEEDS TO BE IN BED NOW!” on.the.daily.

My biggest challenge in parenting lately has been my oldest.  I love him so much it hurts my heart.  I love him so much that all I do is obsess that I am losing him to this black hole of middle school- hormonal-almost a teenager-defiant-attitudish-but please still scratch my back mom- seventh grade angst. And since he’s my oldest and I haven’t traveled down this path yet, I worry that I’m handling it all wrong and ruining him for life and he is going to move out at 18 and not tell me when he meets The One and elope and have kids and only call me on Mother’s Day because The One reminds him to, and The End.

My boy getting all grown up and handsome

My boy getting all grown up and handsome

Seriously, this is what I think because A) I’m a bit crazy and B) I’m genuinely scared that I’m ruining him.  I don’t know how to handle the attitude.  I have adopted the “choose your battles” mentality with him because if I didn’t, we’d be locking horns from sun up to sun down.  (Well, now that he sleeps until 11, I guess it would be more like four hours past sun up to sun down).  If I breathe wrong, if I ask him a question that he doesn’t feel like answering, if I don’t hear him over the mumbling, if I try to decipher what he mumbled and decipher incorrectly, if we are out of bagels or toaster strudels, if he is starving (which is always), if he is tired (which is always), it always ends the same: I start off patient and understanding of this hormonal angst because I remember it well, but quickly slide to psycho mom in about 5.6 minutes and then he’s mad because I’m psycho mom and “the meanest mom EVER and don’t ever talk to me again!”  (insert eye rolling and mumbling of epic proportions).  So I do what every rational mom does:  I  ground him for life.  At this point, he’s grounded until August. I finally stopped adding more weeks because it obviously is not working so now we are on “you can earn your weeks back if you just act somewhat civil to us” mode.

The point here isn’t how we are punishing him, or how he reacts, it’s just that I miss my son.  I miss the sweet boy he used to be and when I catch glimpses of him, my heart melts.  I know that my job as a mother is to reassure him that no matter what, he is loved.  His actions and tone of voice might not be liked very much sometimes, but he will always be loved.  I can distinctly remember being annoyed with my parents for simply being home when I was that age, so I do get it, I really do, it just doesn’t make it easier.  I also know that I am responsible for creating empathetic, kind, responsible human beings that will be of value to society when released from the safety of our home. I think our world will be OK with this one because apparently he is an angel for all people outside of this house. So, we’ve got that going for us.

I’m trying. I really am.  I’m reading books, I’m scouring the Internet for articles, I’m trying new parenting techniques and I’m calling my parents saying, “What in the hell am I supposed to do??  Help me, parents!” It all boils down to this is not something I was prepared for—there is no What to Expect When You’re Expecting: The Eye Rolling and Mumbling Years book for parents to read when they are expecting.  These years just sort of sneak up on us and we are left to fend for ourselves, grappling for answers, hoping we are doing it right.

I guess this is the age.  I guess I need to grin and bear it, love him unconditionally, be stern when I need to be, and choose my battles.  I need to hold onto hope that he won’t elope with The One and only call me on Mother’s Day because she reminded him to.  I need to hold onto hope that he knows how much he is loved, how very much he is appreciated and valued in this family even though he gets annoyed when I tell him this.  I need to get better at deciphering the mumbling and realize that he will eventually enunciate his words again.

I should be a pro at this when my other two get to this stage.

I will love this kid until he's 254.

I will love this kid until he’s 254.

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Hopefully Ever After

Once upon a time there was a bright eyed college girl who met a rugged, athletic college guy and they had a lot of college fun together. They fell in love and graduated college and decided to start their lives together. And so they got married, had two babies, bought a house, and had another baby. And they had some really good times and they went on some vacations. And they had some really bad times and they had some really sad times, but they were their times.

And then they got busy raising kids. They ran to different activities and went in separate directions and always put the kids first and themselves last. They stopped really seeing each other. They were busy. They were stressed.  They became distant. They stopped laughing. They would sit on separate couches at night and watch TV, or stare at phones, or read books. They fell asleep on the couch and went to bed at separate times and left the house in the morning in a hurry.

And they were both just always so busy. The house was always messy. The bills were always piling up. The stress of teaching and work and life was getting overwhelming. The division was getting bigger.

She started to get angry. And he started to get aggravated. And she got flustered and resentful that the kids were acting out and dinner needed to be cooked and laundry needed to be done and the house was a mess and nobody had any clean socks and no she didn’t call the mortgage company because she worked all day and then parented all night and why didn’t he just GET THAT?

And he started to get lonely because why didn’t she talk to him anymore? Why didn’t she touch him anymore? Why didn’t she see the stress he felt with work and bills and money? Why didn’t she see how exhausted he was from running from work to practice every night?

And she started to get sad because why didn’t he just see her anymore? Why didn’t he really talk to her anymore? Why didn’t he touch her anymore?

And he started to get distant while she was lonely. And he started to get overwhelmed because money was tight. And she started to get overwhelmed because money was tight. And they started to fight more. And they started to lose each other in sadness, loneliness, and anger. And individually the little fights were nothing, but collectively they were everything. Communication broke down, anger and annoyance festered just below the surface, waiting for one more thing to set off another big fight. And the kids started to notice.

And then after one more fight she thought, “I don’t know if I’m happy. I don’t know if I can live like this. I don’t even know if he loves me anymore.” And he didn’t listen. Instead, he resigned himself to, “This is life.”

And she shut down. She got lost. She convinced herself that everyone would be happier apart because nobody was happy together. And when she finally told him, he thought, “No. I will fight.” And she thought, “No. I will go.”  And he thought, “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”  And she thought, “I tried.” And he thought, “I’ll fight. I’ll fight for us.”  And too many bad things were said that could not be unsaid. And too many bad things were done that could not be undone. And then he thought, “Maybe I don’t deserve this.” And she thought, “Maybe I don’t deserve this.”

And then there they were, facing a cliff, ready to tumble off when she looked at her husband, really looked at him, and he took her hand and it was the first time they touched in too long and she thought, “No. I want to fight for us.” And he thought, “I don’t know if I have any fight left in me.” And she thought, “I do. I will fight for both of us.” And he thought, “I love her enough for this.” And they started the long climb up. And they started to talk again. And they started to laugh again. They started to communicate again. They started to love again.

And they realized how much they missed each other. How much she missed how her head fit on his shoulder and the smell of his neck. How much he missed the curve of her waist and the softness of her skin. And they said these things. And suddenly what was once taken for granted was now appreciated. And they said these things. And laughter returned and intimacy returned and love returned.

It’s not easy. It was never meant to be easy. But for me, this fight is worth it.

I love you, KRS. Always.

“Come to me my sweetest friend
Can you feel my heart again
I’ll take you back where you belong
And this will be our favorite song”

–“Come to Me”, Goo Goo Dolls

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Common Core: The Good, The Bad, and The Reality

Last year, I wrote the post “How Common Core is Slowly Changing My Child.”  It struck a nerve with parents and teachers across the country as we all were adjusting to the new Common Core State Standards. I wrote it on a night where everything went wrong and homework was a nightmare for my then third grade son. That day had also been particularly difficult at work as I had begun to teach the first common core module unit to my ninth graders. After the kids went to bed, I wrote. By morning, the response was overwhelming. Two weeks later, I still had parents commenting on the change they had seen in their children due to school.

A year later, almost to the date, the post is making its way onto people’s newsfeed again and I’m getting the same comments from concerned parents and teachers.  It’s been a year since I sat on my couch on that October night, angry at New York State for implementing these standards so hastily, but my thoughts are still the same.

Let me be clear:  I am just one teacher. Just one mom. I am not speaking on behalf of every teacher across the country, nor am I speaking on behalf of every mom of school aged children. But I do think we have a lot in common, and my experience over the past year speaking with teachers and parents across the country is that there is more harm than good that is happening with the implementation of common core.  The standards, in essence, have good intentions. Who can argue that raising the bar and giving all kids in every state a fair shot at these higher standards is a bad thing?  Like I said, the intentions are good.

However, the rushed implementation of these standards and the educational practice that has been going along with them has been nothing short of a disaster.

My experience with common core is first as an educator:  I teach it in my classroom at the high school level, and second as a mother: I see what my children are doing at the middle and elementary level. A line that I wrote in my first post that I did not articulate clearly enough addressed high school teachers and our role in common core: “But let’s work backwards: our high school teachers signed up for this. We can get our kids college and career ready and if we don’t, shame on us.”  High school teachers were angry at that, but what I meant is that since choosing to teach secondary education our goal has always been to prepare our students for the post-secondary education world, whether it be entering the workforce or entering college. Making our students “college and career ready”, the whole basis of common core, is nothing new to us.

What I did not know at the start of the common core implementation, was how common core would look in an elementary classroom, nor was I prepared for what it would do to my children.

The implementation of these standards has also introduced a new curriculum that many schools across New York State have adopted: modules. These modules can be found on the engageNY website, and from what I understand, schools in various states are also using the engageNY modules. Suddenly, rather than allowing teachers to use their expertise, experience, and knowledge to create units aligned to the new standards, teachers were now being handed scripted units to use instead.  Units that were not created by teachers, but rather large businesses that did not take into account the different demographics or needs of each district. These modules have taken the creativity away from the teacher. They have taken hands on activities out of the classroom and replaced them instead with close reads and textual evidence lesson after lesson. Our English teachers are now becoming Social Studies and economics teachers. One of the ninth grade modules had me teaching about hedge funds, Ponzi schemes, leveraged money and Bernie Madoff—to fourteen year olds. The modules I work with are age inappropriate, redundant, and boring.  I am doing the best I can to make them engaging and fun. Every teacher I know who is teaching using the modules, is doing the best they can with the materials they have.

The modules my children are using are no better.  The ELA modules at the elementary level are much the same that I see at the ninth grade level. Passages, close reads, annotating, writing using textual evidence. There is value in that skill. Being an active reader and providing textual evidence is an important skill that is integrated into all subject areas.  But where is the funYes, the fun.  Elementary school should be equal parts challenging and fun.  Our elementary school teachers are creating lifetime learners who love to learn. Taking the fun out of school is taking the love out of school. These ELA modules have replaced fun with “rigor.” The math modules are so complex that parents can no longer effectively help their children with homework.  We are working on homework for hours.   Last week, my husband and I spent an hour on the engageNY website learning a seventh grade math module lesson, arguing over how to solve for x and y and where to substitute k .  We are highly educated adults, not twelve year olds. How does this translate in an average seventh grade math class?  My guess?  Not well. I can tell you from the anger and frustration on my son’s face as we sat trying to force this concept on him that it has been a unit full of frustration. The same goes for our fourth grade son as well. Homework time at our house is usually met with tears and more often than not, broken pencils and frustrated foot stomping up the stairs to bed.

The concepts are simple. The lengthy process to prove the children understand the concept is not. The reasoning behind the in depth (sometimes six extra steps to solve a simple multiplication problem) is so the children have a better understanding of numbers and how they work. What parents and children are so frustrated about, however, is that our kids know the answer. But after six steps there is more room for error and more room for confusion. Which all leads to more room for frustration.

I stand by my statement that these challenges don’t make our kids feel like they are on the road to being college and career ready in fourth grade.  It makes them feel like failures. Why?  Because even though they know that 6×5=30, they still got the answer wrong on the test because they weren’t able to “decompose” the problem properly.

A year later, I still see a change in my son. My older son is rolling right along.  I wouldn’t say he is enjoying it, he complains about the module packets and the nonstop close reads, but he is faring well. My younger son is still struggling. He lost his love for school that he had in kindergarten, first, and second grade. He’s active in sports and participates in the school band which helps us motivate him to get on the bus but his attitude toward learning is negative. He believes he’s stupid even though we tell him otherwise and even though he is not.  We can’t get back these years with him.

But we can fight for him.

aiden cc 2

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Dear Neighbors:

To My New Neighbors:

You see that green house behind us?  That sweet couple who likes their nightly cocktail on the deck? We have been tormenting them for nine years.  They know more about the inner workings of our family than anyone… the good, the bad, the ugly.  I’m sure they have an appropriate drinking game to go along with the six o’clock ugliness of hungry fighting that happens with my kids every evening. When they begin to hear the kitchen window slam shut, they know I have now attempted to block out some of the impending yelling that will take place, which doesn’t even muffle the sounds because our houses are just soclosetogether.  (I hope she is feeling better.  She was sneezing an awful lot the other day.)

What started as  toddler tantrums when we first moved in (and a 7:00 bedtime…at least they had that) has evolved into hormonal disputes, interesting name calling, and a touch of physicality. And that is all before I get involved.

New neighbors, take heed. They will fight. I try to keep it in check. I really really really hope you have loud kids, too.

And to my dear sweet neighbors in the green house, take comfort in this:  one day, my boys will own their own homes, and if karma has any sense of humor, she will give them neighbors with a pair brothers who are just like them.

Sincerely,

Mrs MB

Moms Who Write and Blog

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Doing The Best We Can

We are wrapping up our second week of summer vacation here in sunny Western New York, and I just came out of my two week hibernation/slumber/fog of recovering from the past ten months. This year was a tough one. With all of the changes both at school and at home, and a schedule change that threw our family for a loop, we barely made it through some days. But, I did the best I could. Some days my best was making it to the bathroom 12th period without peeing my pants a little bit. Some days my best was finding the shirt my son was looking for in the first laundry basket rather than the fourth. Some days my kids at school got the best of me, while my kids at home got the scraps. Some days my kids at home got the best of me, while my kids at school got the scraps. Some days my dog was the only one who got the best of me.

But. I did the best I could.

My boys got on the bus with their teeth brushed, wearing clean clothes, homework done, lunches in their bags every morning. My daughter was a trooper and was awake by 5:40 so we could leave by 6:30 for Pre-K. I was greeting and high-fiving and common coring by 7:15 (well sometimes 7:20…7:25). I taught, disciplined, encouraged, laughed, disciplined, intervened, and pulled my hair out until 3:00 and then I crashed.  I crashed HARD. Like, passed out, slumped over, drooling, snoring, dead asleep for twenty minutes in the preschool parking lot before going in to get my daughter every afternoon. That type of crash.

And then I was on for the rest of the night. I was dealing with after school-hungry-tired-I-don’t-want-to-do-my-homework-I-only-want-to-watch-TV-and-I’m-going-to-yell-at-my-brother-and-sister-if-they-talk-to-me, homework, dinner, cleaning up, hockey/basketball/baseball practice, packing f’ing lunches, signing forms that I was supposed to send back three weeks ago and now has THIRD NOTICE highlighted at the top, playing Old Maid and Uno so I didn’t feel like I was completely ignoring my kids (which I was because there is just so much TO DO BEFORE BED), and oh hi, husband!  How was your day, hon? Sorry you’re walking into this disaster and can you just throw the laundry in the dryer OK I’ll have a real conversation with you in five years, bedtime, picking out clothes for the next morning that will be here in just seven short hours, and then looking at the bag of papers that needed to be graded but I know I’ll only get through three before falling asleep and that poor kid will have a random red zigzag line on his paper from me falling asleep while reading it. That. That was my day, Monday-Friday for the past ten months. 

But I did the best I could.

And I constantly felt like I was failing. I was failing at being a teacher because I was too busy being a mom. I was failing at being a mom because I was too busy being a teacher. I was failing at marriage because it was easy to put that last. I was failing at writing because I was busy parenting and teaching. I was failing at parenting and teaching because I was busy writing. My husband got lost in the shuffle when he really needed a partner.

And then I got lost in the shuffle because I really needed me.

I felt tired and I looked tired. I bought better makeup and felt guilty about spending money on better makeup. I fit in exercise when I could and then felt guilty about leaving to go exercise. I was exhausted from exercising at 9:00. I ate Butterfingers and drank too much coffee. I gained a few pounds from the Butterfingers and coffee. I fit in another exercise class and felt guilty about that. I lost more weight. I still felt exhausted. I still felt guilty. I still felt like I didn’t know where I fit in, but I knew where everybody else did.

But I did the best I could. 

My story is not unique to me. I’m sure many moms and dads, working or not, feel this way throughout the school year. The constant hurry and rush to get from one day to the next.

My goal is to not rush this summer. No hurrying out of the house, no “Come on, come on, we’re late!”, no constant glancing at the clock.

September can wait. 

Lazy days

Lazy days

You can find Mrs Momblog on Facebook here where I write daily shenanigans.

You can also follow me on Twitter here where I pretend to know what I’m doing.

You can also find me in pictures on Instagram here where I stalk my son.

Or you can check out my Pinteresty goals here to see what I won’t be baking, cooking, crafting, or sewing since I’m pretty basic.

 

 

 

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