There are “teachers” and then there are TEACHERS.
I’m lucky enough to work mostly with the latter. You can tell who we are, even if you don’t know us well. We are the ones who are up and blogging at 6AM because let’s face it, there’s no one else around to talk to and we are gulping our coffee so we can get to the 7:15 meeting.
We are the ones wearing comfortable pants because today will be one of those sitting-on-the-floor-wit- the-math-groups days and we don’t that gracefully in either a skirt or (shudder) skinny jeans.
You can tell who we are by the giant bags that we carry around, pulling our spines out of joint so we can respond to all 24 writing journals when we get home.
We have baggy eyes, and if you talk to us, you will understand why.
Sometimes we dream that we are cooking huge vats of pasta sauce and every time we turn around, another one of our students has appeared, so we just keep adding more. Sometimes we dream that we are trying desperately to get the kids to quiet down and come with us because the room is on fire and we are the only one who sees it.
And sometimes we look all pale and puffy eyed because last night we kept dreaming of the best way to teach long division to kids who can’t recall the multiplication tables! Over and over, dreams of singing the nines table, tapping out the eights, making posters of the sixes. There was a grand piano in there somewhere, too, and a woman dressed in a tree costume (luckily, I don’t think it was me.)
So if you happen to see a puffy eyed, wild haired, stoop shoulder crooked old lady walking around muttering “seven times eight IS…..”, just smile at her and wish her well.
Tonight she may dream she’s fighting in the French and Indian War.