Letter to the Tired Teacher
It's still January. I feel you. This month lasts, according to my very close and personal experts, 17 times as long as every other month. You're tired. You're so tired that some days it feels like you're sleep walking. You're so tired, because despite that exhaustion, you come to work every day and give it your all.
Students aren't aware of your ability to teach while sleep walking because you are that dedicated, you are that good. You're proud of the fact that your kids are thriving and growing (or possibly just surviving at this point). They don't know that every night your head hits the pillow after grading and planning, with dishes in the sink and laundry piles that are beginning to compete with Mount Everest. Your place is beginning to look a little like a submission video for the show Hoarders, but it's okay because at 8:00 on the dot, you are in the school, ready for a new and exciting day.
It's okay to go to bed at seven. If you have kids at home, like the kind who call you by the name "Mom" or "Dad" and not Mrs., Mr., or Ms., they can go to bed with that peanut butter in their hair. You're still a great parent. You still love and care for your kids. When the peanut butter hardens and you have to cut it out, don't cry, because ugly haircuts help kids build character...just look at most of my elementary and middle school photos.
The other day I slipped on my stairs going home after work and as I laid on the ground, I contemplated how much work sub plans would be if I had a concussion. Would I be expected to do sub plans if I had a concussion? Would my students notice if I was teaching while concussed? I laid, partially on my stairs and partially on the ground, for a solid two minutes in the cold, North Dakota winter because it was one of the first times this month that I didn't feel like I was going in 100 different directions.
This is supposed to be a rambling, digital high-five. You are an amazing teacher. You do great work. You are appreciated. Sometimes it's easy to forget that January will come to an end and then we'll only have four short months with students....well, short might be pushing it. February doesn't have any days off in my neck of the woods, and we all know how kids get toward the end of May. To be safe, I should just say that we only have four months left with students.
Only four months ahead to help students become better people and to try and teach them how to spell their name, or do fractions, or balance a checkbook...okay, we all know that last one is a bit dated, but we still are preparing these people to go out and be citizens of the world. For some teachers, there are only four months until their students never take another class in their life. Would you be happy with the knowledge your students left your classroom with if you knew it was their last class ever?
You've got this. You can do this. Take a nap. Don't grade everything that is handed in. Have a good cry. You are the molder of minds. People trust you with their most precious belonging. That's amazing. Take a deep breath and know that you will survive this month and this school year.
And if this doesn't make sense, I'm sorry. I'm just a teacher trying to finish out the last 93 days of January in one piece.
Students aren't aware of your ability to teach while sleep walking because you are that dedicated, you are that good. You're proud of the fact that your kids are thriving and growing (or possibly just surviving at this point). They don't know that every night your head hits the pillow after grading and planning, with dishes in the sink and laundry piles that are beginning to compete with Mount Everest. Your place is beginning to look a little like a submission video for the show Hoarders, but it's okay because at 8:00 on the dot, you are in the school, ready for a new and exciting day.
It's okay to go to bed at seven. If you have kids at home, like the kind who call you by the name "Mom" or "Dad" and not Mrs., Mr., or Ms., they can go to bed with that peanut butter in their hair. You're still a great parent. You still love and care for your kids. When the peanut butter hardens and you have to cut it out, don't cry, because ugly haircuts help kids build character...just look at most of my elementary and middle school photos.
The other day I slipped on my stairs going home after work and as I laid on the ground, I contemplated how much work sub plans would be if I had a concussion. Would I be expected to do sub plans if I had a concussion? Would my students notice if I was teaching while concussed? I laid, partially on my stairs and partially on the ground, for a solid two minutes in the cold, North Dakota winter because it was one of the first times this month that I didn't feel like I was going in 100 different directions.
This is supposed to be a rambling, digital high-five. You are an amazing teacher. You do great work. You are appreciated. Sometimes it's easy to forget that January will come to an end and then we'll only have four short months with students....well, short might be pushing it. February doesn't have any days off in my neck of the woods, and we all know how kids get toward the end of May. To be safe, I should just say that we only have four months left with students.
Only four months ahead to help students become better people and to try and teach them how to spell their name, or do fractions, or balance a checkbook...okay, we all know that last one is a bit dated, but we still are preparing these people to go out and be citizens of the world. For some teachers, there are only four months until their students never take another class in their life. Would you be happy with the knowledge your students left your classroom with if you knew it was their last class ever?
You've got this. You can do this. Take a nap. Don't grade everything that is handed in. Have a good cry. You are the molder of minds. People trust you with their most precious belonging. That's amazing. Take a deep breath and know that you will survive this month and this school year.
And if this doesn't make sense, I'm sorry. I'm just a teacher trying to finish out the last 93 days of January in one piece.
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