Morning Fog


Now in my 5th year of teaching full time, I have grown accustomed to the cold. To the runny-ness, the stuffiness, and the fogginess – not to mention the coughy-ness…not to be confused with the equally pertinent coffee-ness.

I give up. I no longer just hate being sick, I loathe it with the white hot loathing a slave has for its master. And with the same degree of complacency of knowing I can’t do a damn thing about it for it is my destiny to serve.

Speaking of serving, I have been awash in testosterone, Italian made, on the home front for years. Even my daughter was a tomboy, sandwiched between two overactive brothers. Even the dog is a tomboy, as dogs tend to be.

It is probably good that I work in a school where almost all of the teachers are female. It gives my life a little balance, and reminds me that there is nothing wrong with girliness. The fact that I am expecting a grand-daughter soon – my daughter’s daughter – fuels that fire.

One thing I have noticed working in a school full of females is that it isn’t at all like working in an office full of them was in the old days. That is a roundabout way of saying how touched I was when one of my fellow teachers brought me homemade chicken soup last week. She knows that when mom gets sick, there’s nobody to take care of her. I immediately started feeling sorry for myself when I realized that nobody does look out for me or take care of me, and I don’t particularly miss that because I thrive on the caring and the looking out for others…but it does feel good to be soothed now and then. Really good. It made me miss my mom, not just in her death, but I miss having had a mom for the 15 years or so before that. The mom that disappeared in herself after her stroke. I miss the mom. I used to know. I miss having had a mom close by all these year. Independence and adulthood and motherhood and self-reliance are awesome sirens, but sometimes I would trade it all to have my mom stroke my hair and give me a hug.

Anyway, the chicken soup was delicious, and I think it did help my cold. I know it soothed my soul.

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That time of the week

The second in the New! Improved! I-swear-I’ll-write-every-Saturday installment plan: I have arrived.

My life is so boring and at the same time so intricate with details that it makes my brain almost numb by Saturday. So by boring, I just mean it’s the same-old thing day in and day out all week long. I get up too early without enough sleep, I gather my things and my son (who I’m now attempting to feed a hot egg breakfast to each morning and I managed to do just that 7 out of the last 8 days – we won’t discuss Friday) and we RACE to school. We manage to stop at Starbucks on the way (managed that 32 of the first 33 days of school) without being late and then I somehow get through a non-stop day teaching 6 and 7 year olds until I just want to collapse in my chair once they are gone. But NO! Parents need to have meetings. And my son is hungry. And thirsty. And wants to go home. Now. And I have a room to straighten and things to plan and things to correct. And when I get home, the husband is hungry too and dinner and cleaning and 7th grade homework and my school work that I’ve brought home and on and on and on…
until Saturday comes and I am almost catatonic. But does it end there? No, because over the weekend there are papers to catch up on and I have to plan the next week’s instruction and there are always some emails to read and answer and “extra” stuff the principal might have asked for…

My mission, and I’m trying to accept it, is to try to find a little time for myself.

Being here actually helps.

Now, I need to go finish cleaning up breakfast mess, take the dog to the groomer, take a shower and wash my hair, go to the dry cleaners, get that mani/pedi FINALLY…I’m sure there is grocery shopping to do and OF COURSE there is laundry to wash and dry and fold and an entire house to dust, vacuum and mop. YAY! I love days off!