Oh man, is it FEBRUARY or what?!
It's cold, it's gray, there's probably way too much indoor recess going on (which results in too many horrific afternoons) and those days where you just want to pop in a movie and sit quietly in the back of your classroom and, I don't know, file things quietly, are happening WAY too often.
PLUS, in addition to your friends being all antsy, and crazy and UNABLE TO SIT STILL AND FOCUS, February is always the time where it feels like the pressure is ON. And not in a "I have so much to do!" way but in a "Holy sh*t! How is it February already and I haven't even started the unit on (insert topic here)! And what am I going to do about so-and-so's reading?? Wait, are those more papers I have yet to correct over there?!?" way.
Throw in the whole Snow Day Clusterf*ck and you've got yourself a real reason to want to poke yourself in the eye.
(For those of you not in the Wonderful World of Teaching, a Snow Day Clusterf*ck translates loosely to the collision of two competing realities for teachers in various parts of the country based on their respective weather patterns. On one hand, you have teachers who have had SO MANY snow days that they are literally sweating a little over the prospect of having to make up all those days and have now reworked their lesson plans and schedules for the ho-jillionth time in order to accomodate all those days off. Honestly, their plan books are so littered with arrows, post it notes and cross outs that they more closely resemble the part of movies where they show the serial killers bedroom that is filled with all sorts of creepy clippings and notes than they do actual plans for children. On the other hand, you have teachers who have had mountains of snow dumped upon them yet their schools REFUSE TO CALL A SNOW DAY most likely because they work in a city and their students are able to walk to school. Unfortunately, this means ritualistic waking a dawn to listen to the news to watch that little scrolly thing at the bottom of the TV only to routinely be
Again, you can see where the desire to do some eye poking comes in, yes?
And then you start to feel bad because teaching is really one big roller coaster of emotion and you know that you've been less than perky in front of your friends. Or maybe you feel like you aren't as well planned as you should be. Or maybe you're feeling like that lesson on rocks totally could have gone better. Which leads to wondering whether or not you're cut out for this job at all. Which leads to wondering if you're little friends are going to remember all these frantic moments. Which leads to something I like to call a Shame Spiral. Shame Sprialing is bad.
So if you are mid-Shame Spiral, or really, in those very early stages of Shame Spiraling, know this. At the end of the year, most kids will only remember the fun times, how much you loved them and all that they learned. They won't think about the homework papers you never got around to grading, or the time that lesson blew up in your face, or that you left one of their art projects abandoned and unfinished in the back of the classroom because sometimes you bite off more than your schedule can chew in the project department.
They will have memories that sound like this:
(I took the liberty of going through notes from my former friends since you probably have very similar notes, but no time to actually look at them in these moments o' crisis otherwise known as February.)
"I will miss the silly sentence board, because it was so silly. I will miss my job because it is fun to have a job. I will miss Mrs. M because she was the best."
"I'll miss Mrs. M. because she is the best teacher a kid could have. I'll miss the class because it is so colorful."
"I love when I have a classroom job."
"I'm going to miss Mrs. M. and my friends because they treat me good. And I am good to my teacher."
"I will miss all the things we did because I love writing and reading so much."
And then AND THEN PEOPLE, when you are true rock star (which I know you all are) like Big Mama Mimi is, you get an email, out of the blue, that sounds something like this:
"I'm not sure if you remember me, but I was in your class from 1996-1997. At that point I was best friends with So-and-So, and we begged you to put us in the same class for the following year. Well, all these years later, he is still my best friend, and we both just graduated from college.
A few weeks ago we were discussing our grade school days, and how much we enjoyed you and your class. I hope this does not come off as weird to you, but we were both wondering if you
would be willing to meet us for lunch sometime. I can assure you we will not try to sell you anything or insist you pay (a joke, we both have jobs), we are just looking to catch up. Both of us have aspirations of leaving this state in the near future, and this is one of the things we wanted to do before moving."
And I die.
So put the pencil down, take a deep breath and know that you will get through February. So will your friends.