The best job(s) in the world

Tonight it was a fundraising night at Culver's for my school.  The place was packed.  I had a rotation of Davis men to eat with.  Adam and I went first, then Braeden came (Anna had had a long day on campus and opted out) and Adam went to bishopric meeting, then Mark came from rehearsal.  So I was there awhile.  I saw lots of cute cute kids.  I only saw two of my own students but my heart melted when other little cuties recognized me and came up to talk to me or waved shyly at me or gave me a hug.  Sitting there laughing and talking (and arguing politics, because Braeden) with my two boys, I just felt happy.  

The lines between motherhood and teaching blur, maybe because I homeschooled.  It all feels like the same job.  Sometimes I have to remind myself that my third graders are going to move on to a new teacher next year.  I catch myself thinking about teaching them in years to come like I did my own children.

It is hard and unglamorous work, but how I love it.  Even when I fail at it (and I do!), it feels like time well spent.

Last night, I had a complete come apart when Mark told me that we'd missed the deadline to pay for his AP exam.  I felt like the worst neglectful mother alive.  I felt like it was all my fault because I was off teaching when I should be home diligently paying AP exam fees--even though Adam reminded me I'd missed deadlines before I started teaching--sad but true.

This morning Mark went to school early and the financial office gave him a break and he was able to pay the fee. 

(I'm very grateful it worked out.)

Clearly even though I've been at it for nearly 23 years (is that true?!?), motherhood still trips me up.  

Being a teacher is not all that fun every minute of every day either.  Sometimes I think if there is one more request for "teacher" I'm going to go screaming into the night.  They interrupt me for the craziest reasons.  (I was right in the middle of a lesson and a girl raised her hand to see if she could tell me a joke.  No.  No you can't.)  They wander around the room when they should be working.  They make messes and can't tear papers out of workbooks without needing major tape repairs (just let me rip out the pages for you!).  Three of them have stories to tell me all at once and they ignore the fact that all three of them are talking at the same time.

It all is quite possibly addling my brain.

But they are incredibly sweet and inspiring and oh, so funny.

Just today a student said, "Hey, is gelatin a skeleton made of jell-o?"  Then she grinned wickedly because she knew she was being clever.

In our small leveled reading groups, the third grades share students.  I had a student from another class with me.  He is, putting it mildly, a character.  He tries on different accents when he reads.  Last week we were reading a story about China and he read with this crazy nonsensical accent.  Another student complained that she couldn't understand him.  He said, as if it was totally beyond his control, "When I read about another country, I have to read in an accent."

Today he asked me if he could read the story about presidential elections with a "Barack Obama accent." 

I said sure; I was curious.

For the first time ever, he read in a completely normal voice.  From now on I'm going to request his best Barack Obama accent.

After dinner tonight, Braeden asked Mark if he wanted to continue their political discussion at Winco because Braeden needed to go grocery shopping.  Mark agreed.  They are on opposite ends of the political spectrum and I can just see them striding around Winco, arguing.

Each boy wrapped me up in a bear hug before we parted ways.  They kissed the top of my head and told me they loved me.

My mother/teacher job doesn't really pay too much, I'm very imperfect in both roles, and it mostly leaves me exhausted.  But I wouldn't trade it.  These kids delight me.