I would’ve hugged those kids so hard before letting them leave on that Friday, March 13. Some of them would’ve hated it; some of them would’ve loved it. All of them would eventually understand why that day was different than most.
If I had only known, things would’ve been different that week. When one of the kids noticed a pigeon starting to build a nest outside the window, instead of reminding them to focus, I might’ve called all 28 of them over to the window to see it too. When one of them remembered a science activity from earlier in the year when we tested out different frisbees, maybe I would’ve pulled those frisbees out of their plastic container for a special frisbee recess. Instead of worrying about how I would ever get them to settle down after seeing all of their leprechaun traps tripped, maybe I would just go with it; let them dance Irish jigs and just enjoy each other’s company for that last hour of 2nd Grade. If I had known that would be our last day together, I certainly would not have forgotten to get Lucky Charms at the grocery store for St. Patrick’s Day math. I definitely would’ve made sure that those cute little “I ♡ MOM” keychains were ready for them to give to their mamas tomorrow on Mother’s Day.
If I had known then what I know now, things would’ve been different. They would’ve been different because now I see the tired faces of their parents as they try to complete their online family math interview after laying off employees and figuring out how to keep their business afloat. Instead of talking about how they used math to determine how many employees they could keep and how many had to go, they talked about using math to double the recipe to make dinner for the family. Now I can read between the lines of the late-night e-mails from parents trying to explain the difficulties their child is having getting logged into the website for ELA practice. The frustration is masked with kindness and patience, but I’m fairly certain there’s a mom on the other side of my screen crying because she is so overwhelmed. They don’t want to bother me, but what they don’t realize is that I want to be bothered. I want to feel like I am still contributing something of value rather than just more frustration.
If only I’d known, things would be different, but I didn’t and so they aren’t. The reality is that even though I wish I could jump right through their computer screens to solve the technology woes, or help with the “new math”, or help the kids to settle and focus on completing their daily lessons, I can’t. While I will do the very best I can from this computer, ultimately, it’s all on them and I hate that. The home-school relationship is so important. I rely heavily on parents to support what’s happening in the classroom and right now, in reverse, I just don’t feel like I’m pulling my weight. I know that there is nothing else that I could possibly do. I know that I didn’t cause this. I know that I don’t have little kids at home anymore and I don’t know what they’re going through. I know that I’m sorry and I miss their kids so so much. We have all been forced to accept these new terms, but that certainly doesn’t mean we have to like them.
This week was Teacher Appreciation Week. I was showered with sweet emails, digital gift cards, video messages, lawn signs, and more. I..felt…so…incredibly…guilty…about…it. Don’t get me wrong. I am so thankful and felt so very loved, but I simultaneously felt like a fraud. I felt like I should be the one appreciating them. They are the ones in the trenches. They are the ones executing the plan and the saddest part is that many of them probably don’t even feel like they’re doing a very good job. They’re the ones getting it done in whatever way possible and they are the ones appreciating me?!
In the meantime, what I will do is wake up every morning, fix my coffee, get out of my pajamas, and put on a smile. I will sit down at my computer to record the next chapter of our read aloud and pretend that it is the highlight of my day. I will try to make them feel like they’re sitting right in front of me as they should be. I will work on my Sunday e-mail to families. I will try to find just the right words to encourage them to get through another week of shelter in place. I’ll go through the online homework activities and probably tear up because I usually do listening to their sweet voices and seeing their faces as they explain to me that the fraction is 2/5 because 2 out of 5 of their scrunchies are pink. I will chuckle as I watch the video of the homemade xylophone made from different bottles, 1 of which once held wine. I will cringe as a student goes into mom’s office to ask for help during her video while mom is on the phone with a client. I will watch the video of the student retelling the story two times because I realized that I wasn’t listening the first time because little brother was photobombing in the background. Lastly, I will pray. I will pray for them. I will pray for their patience…their jobs…their family…their tp supply.
Perhaps it was better that we didn’t see this coming, but for now, I’m not so sure. Mostly, I just look forward to the day that I will be able to see them all again. The sadness will return as I see them one-by-one this Fall when we return to school. The reality that our sweet little 2019-2020 school family will never again be a unit will rush over me and there will be tears…because that’s just what I do.
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