twenty-twenty-twenty-four hours to go

This was my yesterday:

3:00am — Teddy wakes up, due either to the recent time change or the molars that haven’t quite burst through his gums (but they have created blood blisters of a lovely purple hue, so that’s something).  He is bottled and changed and goes back to sleep.

3:33am — The cat wakes me up because he’s hungry (he’s always hungry) and there’s no cat food so he gets two slices of turkey in his bowl.  This is his third life.

4:00am — Alarm goes off.  Snooze.

4:09am — Alarm goes off again, for real this time.  I get up, ice my coffee and write 577 words for NaNoWriMo, mostly about boiled peanuts and a town that’s burning down.

5:49am — I iron. I shower.  With an audience:  Mommy, are you done yet?  At least she hands me my towel when I open the door.

6:55am — I drop the two youngest kids off at daycare.  I wave to the crossing guard outside my daughter’s school.  We’ve never actually spoken, but I’d like for his name to be Stan.

7:45-8:42am — Homeroom/Period 1.  Creative Writing.  We discuss villanelles and attempt to write them. Them:  Wait — all of the A’s have to RHYME?   Me: Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

8:45-9:33am — Period 2.  Honors English II.  We write our own Analects for surviving high school, Confucius-style.

9:36-10:24am — Period 3.  Sometimes this is my planning period.  Sometimes it’s the period I try to comfort a seventeen-year-old boy who is haunted, tormented, by memories of his father’s death.  I know too well what his eyes look like when he cries, and that makes my heart hurt.  For him.

10:43 — 11:30am — Period 4.  AP English Literature. We analyze The Second Coming.  We beat it to a pulp, until that rough beast slouches toward Bethlehem.

11:34am — 12:21pm — Period 5.  Honors English IV.  We pretend to be Macbeth, and reflect on our own bloodthirsty madness.  Them, accompanied by their synchronized fists pounding on their desks: MacBETH! MacBETH! MacBETH! BeWAAAAARRRRE MacDUFF! 

12:21– 12:46pm — Lunch Bunch. Yes, every day I eat lunch with a number of teenage boys.  They burp a lot.  Among other things.

12:50 — 1:37pm — Sixth Period. English IV.  Oh, Good Lord.  They drive me crazy.  But they make me laugh, too.  It’s quite a predicament, really.

1:41 — 2:28pm — Seventh Period.  I cover sophomore geometry for another teacher who has an appointment.  In the last few minutes of class, a girl has a seizure at the front of the classroom.  I kneel on the floor, not really knowing what I’m supposed to do.  I stroke her hair and wait for her eyelids to stop fluttering.

2:30 — 4:00pm — After school.  I grade three sets of vocab quizzes while a student makes up a test.  I eat a sandwich that a student left for me.  It came with its own container of honey-mustard dipping sauce.

4:30pm — I pick up my children from daycare.  We rock out to One More Night on the ride home.

5:00-6:00pm —  Dinner. Me:  Sit down. Her:  But–  Me: Sit down.  The Other Her: But–  Me: Sit down!  Who walks around while they’re eating dinner?  I walk around while I’m eating dinner.

6:15pm — I notice my husband sitting across the room from me.  We wave.

6:30-8:45pm — Bath #1. Bottle. Crib.  First-grade homework.  Accelerated Reader.  Twice.  Or three times.  Bath #2.  Two bedtime stories.  Bed.  I try to sneak away when I think the littler one is asleep, but the eyes open.  I’m caught.  Her: Why aren’t you rubbing my back?

8:45pm and Beyond! — I pull the least-wrinkled school uniform from the sky-high pile on top of the dryer (the ones on top of the dryer are clean; the ones on top of the washer are not).  The PTO wants to know if I’m coming to the Board meeting Tuesday night.  I’d like a beer, but then, I’d also like a bed.

It sounds a lot like today, actually.  

*Thank you to my writer-friend, Olivia O’Bryon, for encouraging a post like this.

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8 thoughts on “twenty-twenty-twenty-four hours to go

  1. Loved this post. Man your day is crazy! I admire moms that can teach AND write. I get scared that once I have kids I’ll have to give up one or the other, (and, financially it looks like writing would be the big loser). Seeing how you make it happen gives me confidence.

    My heart hurt for the kid that lost his dad, too. And, wow, a seizure. I’ve given the Heimlich twice, but never had to address a seizure, I’d be lost. I don’t think most people realize how much stress can exist in a single day for a teacher. Glad you shared this with the world 🙂

    • You CAN do it, I promise. Sometimes it means less sleep, but it’s worth it. And the craziness won’t last forever. Or at least I don’t think it will. There must be a light at the end of the tunnel . . .

      I really think most people have no idea what teaching is actually like. After all, the only people who really understand teachers are other teachers. I wonder why there hasn’t been a reality TV show yet.

  2. Olivia linked me to this post and as a teacher and mom, I LOVE it! My days don’t start as early as yours and my kiddos appear to be older, but I can totally relate to the chaos, exhaustion, compassion you have for your students, and the beer or bed debate!

    • Thank you! I feel like that’s why I wrote it — THIS is reality for a working mom. And there are so many of us out there. And we’re pretty darn awesome. Someone should tell us that once in a while.

  3. The horror. The horror. But they’re such incredible grandchildren. And who is that man you’re married to? You’ll discover once they all leave for college. You’ve saving money for that, of course? Oh. The horror. The horror.

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