Hope Springs Eternal

School's out for summer! Students just THINK they're happy; teachers are the happy ones. When that final bell rang Friday before last, the overwhelming sense of freedom and release was immediate. And then, a funny thing happened . . .

We only had two days of post-planning, and I was a tad resentful of having some of my precious time taken for a workshop on our LAST day of work, but I attended dutifully. As I watched the video and listened to the speakers, I picked up an idea or two that might improve my teaching next year. A couple of issues were clarified. A few of my current strategies and approaches were affirmed. I WAS doing something right. Still, I wanted to improve.

As I returned to my classroom to finish wrapping up loose ends, I began to see some familiar materials in a new light. They were okay, but I was getting tired of them. I ran across some books that I had forgotten I even had and got excited about using them next year. As I cleaned out a few boxes and crates of accumulated clutter, I had the strangest urge to get rid of some furniture and open up my learning space. Now, lest you think that I went totally Cornerstone-wild, let me assure you that I am still occupying a bit more space than the advocates would suggest. But I DID turn my desk around so that my personal space was reduced a bit. I moved a bin on wheels which housed supplies down to the hall closet. The large bookcases that marked the entry were replaced with smaller units. And as I finished sorting, I began placing unused resources into my little "take home for the summer" box.

You see, teachers DO get weary. After 180 (179 this year, because of a snow day!) days with the same group of children, the finality of the school year is marked with delight at a job completed, mixed with a measure of retrospection about what could have been improved. And, with the 2009-2010 school year just a couple of months away, I am eager to be closer to becoming the teacher that I know I was meant to be . . .(just like I was a year ago)

Yes, the world's view of the teaching force ranges from slovenly servants to heroic angels. The total teaching population surely includes some of both. But, for the great majority, teaching is a calling to ignite a spark, to delight a mind, to tickle a fantasy--with the realization that what we do daily has ramifications for eternity. Surely that is reason for hope.


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Saturday, June 6:

I just received the latest post from CoolCatTeacher, and Vicki Davis has written a comforting article on "School Daze." She writes about fatigue, recovery, and renewal.
We'll all get there before we return to our classrooms in a couple of months, but I found it reassuring to find such an excellent educator dealing with the same issues that I face. Check out this link; you'll be glad you did!

http://coolcatteacher.blogspot.com/2009/06/school-daze-recovering-teacher-within.html

Another Milestone Reached (Almost)

I've promised to stop calling my youngest son the b_ _ _. I'm glad that I never promised to stop calling my 3 sons "boys", because they will always be "the boys" to me. Of course, I also think of them as blondes, although no one else has probably thought of them as blonde for at least 10 years.

Well, the ba _ _ has his final final at the University of Georgia on Tuesday. Although he will not be an official graduate immediately, it's just a matter of days . . .

Wasn't it just a couple of years ago that we brought him home an hour or two before Mom and Dad arrived with his two older brothers? When I said that he had a Roman nose, my mother objected, saying, "No, he doesn't! He has a pretty nose!" As he had done with his first two grandsons, Dad just sat and smiled at the sleeping baby. (Well, he never said I couldn't use the b _ _ _ word when I was referring to his infancy!)

Big brothers were happy to receive rocking chairs and Cabbage Patch babies. It didn't take long for them to lose their dolls' pacifiers and shoes, but we still have those dolls. (along with boxes and boxes of their own baby clothes)

The role of big brother came easily to the two oldest. One of my favorite memories was the occasion when I explained to them that their brother "cannot drink Kool-Aid." The youngest was in his infant seat, and the two oldest were running around with their Tupperware sippy-cups. Imagine my surprise when they came running into the kitchen to announce, "Mom! Mom! He can drink Kool-Aid!"

Well, the 3 "boys", now "men" by any stranger's assessment, have been a trio for over 20 years. We've survived broken bones, lost soccer games, totaled cars, and worse. We've celebrated birthdays, anniversaries, THREE Eagle ranks, and better.

A gift of the "worse" is the realization that each day is precious. We never know when a gathering of our whole little family will be the last. We may be celebrating a milestone or simply sharing supper, but whenever we're all together--well, it doesn't get any better than that!