mr. g

I love this kid. He cracks us up. And I can't really even put into words how even. He's just funny. He has his first loose tooth and that breaks my heart a little bit.

You know when people told me it would go so fast, I believed them. I really did. I just didn't realize that it happens when you're not really looking. That one day your baby who was excited about Lightning McQueen with white wheels one minute is reading Biscuit books and telling you that your dinner is a 50 on a scale of 1-100 because it was "sorta halfway good" the next minute.

I love him with my whole heart. And in the same moment that my heart hurts over that loose tooth, the definitive sign of "growing up", I am so excited to see what he will become. To see his personality grow and blossom. To see where his creativity takes him.

But for right now, I'll savor his early morning hugs and his dinner rating system and that he still says "froat"instead of throat.

Bribery.

Most mornings run relatively smoothly around these parts.
This is not me bragging.
The smooth running is only because I have extremely low expectations for morning procedures. Beds do not get made. The only criteria for clothes is that they weren't worn the day before. Well, except jeans. I demand that jeans get 2, maybe even 3 days wear before they dare hit the laundry hamper. Sooo, basically that means Mason and Grant have to find a new shirt. I've even been known to cave in the clean sock department on particularly, uh, rushed days. And hair is combed. sometimes. sort of. maybe. on good days.
So like I said. Not bragging.

But every once in a while, the boys are a little slow moving.
And their slow moving days most often coincide with days I might maybe have forgotten to make copies for the lesson that day or maybe, just maybe, there's a chance that sometimes I might need to, uh, firm up what it is that I will be teaching that day. It happens people. Don't worry, though. Honestly, usually my best lessons are the ones that don't come from my lesson plan book, but from recognizing the collective blank stare in my classroom and realizing I better try that again! And probably in a whole new way.

Anyway, sometimes I just need to get to school on time early to be sufficiently prepared to teach the sponge like minds that walk into my classroom at 7:40.

And on such days I find it sometimes helps to provide an incentive to…motivate the boys to hurry the heck up.

I find that donuts are very good motivators. For mother and sons, actually.

It's remarkable really.


Imagine, if you will, a child, cozy under his covers. Messy bed head hair, sleep in his eyes, one socked foot sticking out from under the covers.
His mother who, having at least smelled coffee by this point, can remember the love she feels for her children, and, well, life in general. A few minutes prior to the coffee smelling, she wasn't sure she even knew what love was anymore.
"Sugar bear muffin pants," she calls. "It's time to rise and shine! Love muffin schnookem berry, it's time to get dressed for school!" These loving pet names are greeted by a grunt of annoyance. Eyes remain closed. Bodies still cozy under covers. And now the one foot even retreats back into the covers.

"Sugarbear…" She says again.

The child rolls over making the sounds of a bear being disturbed from hibernation.

"Muffinberry…" No movement.

"Hmm… if we leave early today, we can get donuts."

Said child is instantly brought to life. It's like a scene from a Disney movie. You know, drawers start magically opening, clean shirts are instantly slid onto now wide awake children, hair is combed with baffling speed. Within 4.3 minutes, they're both dressed, shoes on, backpacks ready, by the door.


I bribe my kids with donuts. I do. It's the kind of mother I am. I'm writing my mother of the year acceptance speech right now. :)

Stop the bashing.

*** Quick edit by the author! When I posted this, I had NO idea it would get as many page views as it has from so many different places. I was just a little frustrated on a Friday afternoon and decided to write. Please know that I have absolutely nothing against homeschoolers! I was actually home schooled until my sophomore year of high school and loved it. I credit my homeschool years for making me the person I am today. Many of my dearest friends homeschool their children and I love them for it. The article that "broke the camel's back" just happened to be written by a homeschooler whose opinion on homework and teachers bothered me. Just as my words here do not represent every teacher in the world, I know those author's words did not represent all homeschoolers. Whether you're a home schooling mom or a public school teacher, we're all in this fight together. Okay, proceed. :) ***



We need your help.

Who's we? 

Me. Mrs. Smith. Mr. Jones. Miss Kirkland. Teachers around the state. 

Stop bashing us. 

Stop bashing public schools. 

Stop bashing principals. 

Stop bashing. 

Today, I came home from school. 

I'm exhausted when I come home from school. Did you know that? 

Oh, I don't mean exhausted in the sense that I'm physically tired. No, in fact, most days I come home, lace up my running shoes and hit the road to pound out the exhaustion I feel from my job. 

I'm the kind of exhausted that makes you lash out irrationally at your own kids.

I'm a mom, too. Did you know that? 

By the time 4:30 arrives,(That's the real time I leave my classroom, by the way, for those of you who like to be jealous of our "short days"), and I put on the Mom Hat,  I snap. It's like the last shred of sanity onto which I was clinging suddenly pops and a fury of unjustified wrath spews onto my two poor kids. Don't they know i just need one.dang.second of silence?! Why are they talking again?! Can't they make a snack themselves?! 

No. The exhaustion I'm referring to is mental and emotional. Because since 7:40 this morning, I've dealt with 20 different personality types all shoved into one overcrowded classroom. Three different groups in a row. And my task is to teach them all how to write in this absolutely ridiculous language we call English.

But I'm off on a bunny trail. Another effect of the exhaustion. Inability to focus. 

Back to today. 

I get home and while scrolling through my Facebook feed, I see it. The "This is why I homeschool" link. I should have ignored it. I should have kept going. I shouldn't have read it. But I couldn't help myself. 

It was basically an article that slammed teachers for assigning homework of all things.  I won't go into all the details of this particular article because really the jerk person who wrote this article was simply the straw that broke the camel's back. 

Stop blaming teachers. Stop. it. 

Stop beating us down. Please. I beg of you. I can't tell you how much we need your support.

We're dying out here. We're beaten, bruised, and exhausted. I don't care what you think of public schools, I don't care how much you hate standardized testing, and I don't care how great a homeschool parent you are. None of those things makes it okay to knock us, the teachers. We are doing the very best we can. 

I mean, I think I am. I think I am doing the very best I can. That's the problem with teaching. I always wonder. It's not like I have a quota to meet or a deadline I'm dealing with or a client I'm trying to win. 

My measurement of success is the 20 faces that stare back at me class period after class period. How could I ever know if I'm doing this job right? Maybe in 20 years I'll see one of them and maybe they'll say, "Hey, thanks for making me care about my education, Mrs. Wilde." But today? Today, I am truly trying to do the very best I can, but is it ever going to be enough?

They're all different. Did you know that?

 Each one of my students is so different. I'm not talking about their looks or their personalities. I'm talking about them. Their mind. Their very being. They don't even realize how different they are yet. You know, because they're 10 and being different isn't exactly the "it" thing. But I see it. 

"Joe" is smart. Funny. And I love how his hair is messy every single day. He works really hard for me in class. Oh, he does his typical boy things, but he's a good kid. He can't spell to save his life though. I've tried everything I can think of. But his brain isn't wired to spell. It just isn't. Part of me doesn't mind, because, let's face it, in this digital driven world, I'm willing to bet spell check will catch 95% of his mistakes for him. But what if it doesn't? What if if this one weakness keeps him from the success he should have? What on Earth can I do to help him spell? 

"Will" is a genius, man. I'm talking crazy smart. He can build things out of nothing. I love to talk with him. His brain fascinates me. I feel this pressure to make him work harder because I see such a bright future in front of him. I'm scared of making him complacent. How can I make him use his genius instead of allowing it to be his crutch?

"Hannah" is a mess. That girl just wants to play. And I know, I know. She's 10. But the thing is, she wants to be a veterinarian really badly. Girls who spend more time playing in school than learning don't make it to vet school. How can I make her see that her dreams are worth working hard for? And that boys do like smart girls? I know it's not my job to teach her something like that, but I see her possible futures and it worries me. What if I can be the person to teach her something like that? 

"Robert" makes my heart smile. God, I love that kid. I'd take a classroom full of boys like him. And I'll be danged if I ever see his mind in an oilfield or on a construction site. I'm not knocking those professions one bit. There's a lot of people in the oilfield making way more money than I am, and I very much appreciate the experts who pave the roads I drove on, but it's not for Robert. This boy is meant for greatness. He is meant to do something. I don't know what, but I see it in him. He doesn't though. How can I make him realize how amazing he is? 

Oh, I could go on and on. And I won't be all rosy and fake. Some of my students drive me crazy. Oh, yes, they do. But I love them anyway. And I do truly love this profession I've chosen. I love my students. I love to see them beam with pride when I share their writing as an example for the class. I choose to do this year after year.

Here's my point. At the end of my day, I'm exhausted. I already feel like a failure because tactic #295 for teaching the intricate details of how to do something as complex simple as writing an expository composition with organized supporting details failed.  I'm stressed about the compositions that need grading, the ESL training I still have to do, the benchmarks looming ahead, and the special ed paperwork sitting on my desk. 

I'm exhausted. 

And to come home at the end of the day and see yet another slam against the profession I love so dearly…It truly makes me cry. I'm not kidding. It makes my heart hurt. Imagine an artist who spends his life creating a piece of art, and an outsider whose opinion this artist did not seek out, somehow feels he has the right to not only comment on the artist's work, but belittle and demean it. 

We need your help, people. I don't care about your opinion on public schools. I'm not a public school. I'm a real person who chose this job. I and all my fellow teachers need help and support and encouragement. 

Because here's the really scary thing. The thing that should haunt you, keep you awake at night, make you worry about the future. 

Teachers, the good ones, the ones who care? We're going extinct. We're leaving the classrooms in droves. And that should terrify the hell out of you. Because if you think our country has issues now, take us out of the equation. Oh, they'll always find teachers to fill the spots we leave open. But this is a calling. If you're not called to do this, you will not be effective. If a teacher isn't effective, kids don't learn. Or worse. Kids don't care about learning. And if kids don't care about learning? I think that speaks for itself.

If you're thinking, "we'll just find better schools," you're right. YOU will. The people reading this. If you had to, you'd find a way to get your kids a better education. You'd homeschool or go private or something. But I've never been worried about your kids. It's the other kids. The ones with empty bellies and dirty clothes and a sadness in their eyes that will break your heart. Without me and teachers like me, their numbers will only grow. Without a cheerleader in their lives, someone to make them believe that they can and, by God, they will do better, they won't. 

Take us out of the equation. Take public school teachers out of the equation, I dare ya. Just see where America lands. 

We're exhausted, people. Give us a break. A smile. A pat on the back. We're being asked to do more than ever before with less than we've ever had. 

Stop bashing.

Or at the very least, follow a guideline I try very hard to instill in my 4th graders: If you can't say something nice, just please, don't say anything at all.