I'm in a funk. I am a bit lonely and a lot tired. I am counting the days until we leave on that big plane, stopping in London and Boston before landing in our beloved home state of Washington. Last week, I told one of my classes that I was disappointed in their efforts. We hired a counselor to help Greta with her angry outbursts. Nolan's diet has been atrocious lately. I am battling the stinking ten pounds that I want to lose before spring break, I am struggling to teach my elective class about climate change (I am not a science teacher for goodness sakes), and I hate the color of my living room walls. They're the color of sand; as if I don't see enough of that. All I can say is (insert voice of Liz Lemon here), "Blurg."
I have heard that this time of year is the toughest for teachers. The big holidays are over. Week Without Walls has come and gone (and it would have been perfection if not for the colleague who took multiple - okay, daily - opportunities to insult me). Double blurg.
What am I going to do to perk up my sinking attitude? I run a little, but not enough to keep my arse from expanding into another zip code. I plan our vacations. I Skype. I daydream. I remember what it was like to work part time, to prepare Sunday suppers, to read novels from the library's new fiction shelves, and to walk to the post office. We are enjoying our time abroad, but I think I am having a bit of an identity crisis. Am I a lifer? Do I want to teach overseas for the next ten years and give my kids the tremendous gifts of travel and international education? Am I an island girl? What would it be like to return to the islands after being away? Is there anyone left to hang out with who will put up with my flaky memory, my ongoing mini-dramas, and my lazy attitude toward socializing? Maybe I belong in the Skagit Valley where my family roots are strong and the landscape is achingly familiar.
Blurg, blurg, blurg.
If you're still reading this, I suppose I should toss in some good news. I love that Greta's best friend here is from Pakistan. I love that my students are crazy mixes of Welsh/Iraqi, Japanese/Qatari, and Cuban/Egyptian. This gives me hope for the world. All our students at ASD are like little ambassadors for their own country (and in some cases their own country is Texas . . .) as well as the home countries of their peers. They go to school every single day with kids from places that are feared by many Americans.
Other good news includes that I just finished teaching the novel The Giver and I think I did a pretty darn good job. Expository writing and poetry are next. It's exciting to think about next year and about all the improvements I want to make. I really do want to be a good teacher; it's just so darn tiring! I have been watching Chris go through trials and triumphs of teaching for the past seven years. I have, I admit, thought many times there is no way I am going to put myself through that. Well, here I am, teaching and trying to survive, looking forward to spending my birthday in Sri Lanka, counting the days until we fly home, and daydreaming about all the things I will do when I get there. In the meantime, I will just keep swimming. And running. I will paint my living room walls and try to be a good parent. I will attend Zumba more and eat less. I will try to master the carbon cycle, to teach poetry, and to rekindle Nolan's love for broccoli. I will, I will, I will.
I have heard that this time of year is the toughest for teachers. The big holidays are over. Week Without Walls has come and gone (and it would have been perfection if not for the colleague who took multiple - okay, daily - opportunities to insult me). Double blurg.
What am I going to do to perk up my sinking attitude? I run a little, but not enough to keep my arse from expanding into another zip code. I plan our vacations. I Skype. I daydream. I remember what it was like to work part time, to prepare Sunday suppers, to read novels from the library's new fiction shelves, and to walk to the post office. We are enjoying our time abroad, but I think I am having a bit of an identity crisis. Am I a lifer? Do I want to teach overseas for the next ten years and give my kids the tremendous gifts of travel and international education? Am I an island girl? What would it be like to return to the islands after being away? Is there anyone left to hang out with who will put up with my flaky memory, my ongoing mini-dramas, and my lazy attitude toward socializing? Maybe I belong in the Skagit Valley where my family roots are strong and the landscape is achingly familiar.
Blurg, blurg, blurg.
If you're still reading this, I suppose I should toss in some good news. I love that Greta's best friend here is from Pakistan. I love that my students are crazy mixes of Welsh/Iraqi, Japanese/Qatari, and Cuban/Egyptian. This gives me hope for the world. All our students at ASD are like little ambassadors for their own country (and in some cases their own country is Texas . . .) as well as the home countries of their peers. They go to school every single day with kids from places that are feared by many Americans.
Other good news includes that I just finished teaching the novel The Giver and I think I did a pretty darn good job. Expository writing and poetry are next. It's exciting to think about next year and about all the improvements I want to make. I really do want to be a good teacher; it's just so darn tiring! I have been watching Chris go through trials and triumphs of teaching for the past seven years. I have, I admit, thought many times there is no way I am going to put myself through that. Well, here I am, teaching and trying to survive, looking forward to spending my birthday in Sri Lanka, counting the days until we fly home, and daydreaming about all the things I will do when I get there. In the meantime, I will just keep swimming. And running. I will paint my living room walls and try to be a good parent. I will attend Zumba more and eat less. I will try to master the carbon cycle, to teach poetry, and to rekindle Nolan's love for broccoli. I will, I will, I will.
