I teach children to read and write.
But, on a perfect day-
…I teach them how to do their best to make things right.
On an even better day-
…They show me how to teach.
I’m a teacher.
My job really is child’s play: minus the piles of paperwork.
I’ve been a teacher since the day my own children were born.
Parents are the best teachers. The first teachers.
I just wish I could have a do-over. Sometimes.
My daughters are grown, independent, contributing members of society, and most important: they have GRIT.
That makes the mom in me very happy.
That makes the teacher in me wonder.
- Enter now: Mom guilt
I can’t accept compliments about what a great job I did raising my girls.. I can’t take the credit. They have good genes. They have GRIT. They did a lot of that growing on their own.
I worked two (and sometimes three) jobs when they were young.
I did what I thought a mom should to do.
I taught them to tie their shoes and ride a bike.
I made sure they brushed their teeth before bed.
So my do-over wish?
As a teacher, I now see how much more I
Could’ve, would’ve, should’ve done… with my own children all those years ago.
If I knew better. All those years ago.
All those years ago, I stressed too much about folding the mounds of color-coded laundry piles,
homemade pudding, (the kind that comes in a little plastic cup), off the kitchen ceiling, and vacuuming the pristine playroom.
As a teacher, the classroom is a bit of a playroom. (Minus the paperwork).
A playroom for serious learning.
Not for serious stressing.
We often eat in our classroom. I don’t worry
out loud about the grape jelly embedded on the reading rug. I walk past the mismatched mittens. I enjoy watching the kids rummage through shelves of books that have not been categorized by anyone but an eager-to-read-gotta- find -the- perfect -book five-year-old.
- Enter now: Reality
Sometimes I think I am a better teacher because I was a mom first.
I learned how fast those mom days can go by.
Sometimes I believe that I would’ve been a better mom if I was a teacher first.
I am learning the value of prioritizing. Housework…and even homework can wait.
Kids can’t wait. And they don’t. And they shouldn’t.
I can’t get a do-over with my own kids.
They couldn’t wait for me to learn how to do it all ‘right’. They grew up while I was cleaning.
- End now: Regrets
There are no do-overs.
The proof is in the pudding, as my dad would say. My children grew up just fine, and so will yours.