the children

It is true that sometimes I look at the children I work with and think “I hate you,” This cannot be good for anyone. Yet this is my job: to show up, to teach, to try and find love in my heart.

It snowed, and we started the day with a hike. It was good to see them slide in the snow, laugh, and happily be children. Is it a true consequence of less structured, alternative schools that children develop a sense of entitlement? Or is this just my perception?

It has been creeping up on me now for a few years, that teaching may not be my profession, but what then? How will I make my bread and butter? I find myself thinking wistfully of jobs such as coffee shop barista, natural food store check out clerk, or (my favorite) independent book store retail clerk, Something where I work, and then I am done.

For now I cherish my time away from them. I look for places to connect to them, I plan, and plan some more. I talk, I listen. I pull my hair out and furrow my brow. I try to breathe enough that I may sleep at the end of the day.

I wish that Sundays lasted forever.