Thoughts on Life

As of late, life has gone by so quickly, and I have been so mired in two things.  Grading.  And the perspectives of 14 year olds.  And both have exhausted me.
  

I could hear it in my voice yesterday as I was teaching.  A little bit of an edge that, by 1:30, was harder and harder to hide.  The winter pep fest rounded it out at the end of the day….I stood against the wall and I could see the introverts in the crowd wilting…just like me.  But then it was suddenly 4 pm and school cheer had been had and I stood in the hall and said good bye to the mass of students leaving for the bus.

Blissful, adolescent-less, weekend. 

I slept so hard last night that I could barely remember shutting the place down.  Last I checked, it was 7:45.  Then it was morning.  And it’s at that point that I really look around and see how much this job sometimes requires.  Teachers give and give and give and  I am about spent.  It is definitely past time to stop and take care of myself too.

Let me tell you, middle school is its own beast.  It is not like high school or elementary school or college.  I like where I am, but the sampling of conversations in the last week are telling.  They remind me that I need a break. 

 Things like ‘How can people really die of being trampled?’  Or ‘Did you know that I know how to perform as a fire breather myself?’ (And I listen to them and then tell them to NOT do those things in their backyard because they are NOT fire breathers in Madrid like the picture I am showing them.)

They tell me that they feel like they have trench foot because their feet are still wet from the hike they took during science. (And this is said in all seriousness, so I try not to laugh.)  

One class, very medically minded, finished the primary source about amputations during the Civil War and wanted to know if it was better to saw off the arm or just chop it.  A long debate ensued.  Which would cause less trauma and shock?  A sharp blade? Or could it never be sharp enough?  What would you do if it didn’t hit the bone right the first time?  Why didn’t someone punch the soldier in the face to make sure he was really out before surgery?  (That’s what they’d want.)  It wasn’t until I saw the blanched faces dispersed throughout the class that we moved on.  (Oops.)    

One 7^th grade boy very endearingly wished me a ‘Happy Valentimes Day’ at the end of class on Thursday.  I took a moment to enjoy that, because I know that next year he will grow a foot taller than me and question my authority from time to time.  And he won’t say Valentimes Day any more. 

And then there was the very difficult conversation I had to have with a student about really poor work that he did not take seriously at all.  It really sucked to have to do this, but I knew I had to. 

And then the playground.  Sometimes this week I had to march through the snow and check on kids who were flat on their back, and really not getting up, even after I counted out 5 seconds.  They had accidentally gotten a ball to the face, and were, I could tell, horrified that they couldn’t shake it off in front of their friends the way they wanted to.  And I tried to find that middle ground that gave them time to see if their lip was bleeding on their own before checking myself to see if they really were ok.  To distract their friends while they took time to wipe the snot bubbles off of their nose with their mitten before anyone saw.  (Ew.)  To help them like their mom would but not make them feel like a 5 year old.  A delicate balance, always.  

I think I am sometimes exhausted by those things because, eventually, you realize how invested you are in these people, and how much time you spend with them.  And how badly you want them to be well.  And you see that, just like their parents, the teachers in their lives have to watch them fall on the ground and pick themselves up again too.  I watch kids miss the mark and feel awkward and biff it, sometimes quite literally, all of the time.  And it’s this odd dance of letting the world be but also intervening and saying ‘No, you don’t get to do this’.  Sometimes they don’t pick themselves off of the ground very well.  And sometimes they do.  But when they don’t, it really sucks.

A long time ago, I realized that I can really be a bleeding heart for the whole world if I’m not careful.  I’ve worked on this, believe me. These things I’m talking about….the careworn feelings, are really truly not the first things that I think of in the day.  I know how to hold the line and stay sure in my voice and keep it together.  And find a distance to some degree so that I don’t stay up worrying about these people.  I pray for them a lot (and their parents) and then I sleep easy.  But any delusions about how ‘easy it will be to raise a teenager’ are not there.  They haven’t been for a while now.

So today I have done things differently.  I have taken a slower pace.  I will not grade anything until next week.  And I will not talk very much about history.  I will not think about children.  I will also listen to different sounds.   Not bells and passing time and kids asking questions about the world (that I either can or just cannot answer) and the lockers being slammed and squeaky boots in the hallway.

This is what I have done…..

I have talked to Ariane about things that pertain to our 27 year old selves.  Things that we think about and care about and question.  The way you talk to a best friend.   I have returned to soul-steadying quotes that I have always loved.  I have listened to David Gray and the Avett Brothers and Freelance Whales.  (Today I am not talking about Justin Bieber or One Direction with ANYONE.)   Instead of sitting at my desk to write, I have been sitting against the wall.   

Last night I made myself be an adult and trek through the snow and get groceries so I didn’t exist on popcorn anymore.  And I let myself get the beer I really wanted, which is always a Stella.  And then I put on fuzzy socks and settled in for a Friday night in February of blissful silence. 

And then today I also went to the bookstore.  The bookstore always calms me down because I wander around there like I’m underwater and no one is allowed to talk to me.  I don’t make eye contact with anyone, and that’s about the only place in public where I am good with becoming that much of an introvert.   It is lovely.  

In short.  I am grateful for my life.  I am grateful for a change.  And I am very grateful for the weekend.