I steadfastly sweep off the deck the debris from our weekend project of re-insulating the attic. In the nooks and crannies, between potted herbs and garden gnomes, I think...the two most difficult lessons I've learned in life are this: Not everyone you want is going to love you the way you need to be loved; and some things are ONLY healed with time. Cobwebs catch on the bottom of my broom, much like they do in my brain, holding bits of flotsam in place that would be better lost on some autumn breeze. I pick them off of the gnarled straw ends and release the bits, sending it away. It's easier with my broom...not so much in my head. Why do we hang on to things we know we should let go? Or maybe not everybody does that, only me. Of course, I've thought that before, that I'm the only one and discover quickly enough that is almost never the case, as other voices join my sentiments with resounding, "Me, too's".

I swear, it's just about a daily basis where I view what's going on in the world and wonder what we are doing...what is the point...where is this all going to go? And wherever that is, it can't be good!  It feels as if there is so much toxin, the human race will poison or drown itself in oceans of the stuff. Those are the days I keep my students closest to the forefront of my mind...my students, my girls, my grandchild, my Tribe. I cannot afford to allow my Faith that all will turn out well to fracture into a million pieces, otherwise, what happens to all of them? Somewhere between the potted plants still fragrant with the scent of fresh herbs, I find "the promise". Not long now before colder weather takes the green and smells from all that is close to me, but that won't last forever. If I am patient, hell even if I'm not and worry myself into a frenzy, sooner or later spring WILL come, new growth will happen. I swallow down the fear, gripping tightly to my broom handle in an attempt to hold myself steady, as my part of the "job" is done. Now I do what I'm not so good at doing...I wait. I hope. I have no control over what will unfold, but there is still that tiny seed, that kernel of Faith. That, and a reminder to find the light, cherish the good in each and every day. Take nothing for granted! I am fortunate enough to have a safe roof over my head, good food to eat, and people close to me who care if I wake up tomorrow or not. That makes me pretty rich, even if the whole world goes to hell all around me. I can't control what happens, but I've got that seed in my pocket. So, we'll see.

They sat side by side, the old man and the tiny human, checking one another out over a plate of spaghetti. I listened to my daughter's happy chatter, our dinner conversation flowing easily, but I was captured by the small boy and the old man. What must they be thinking about one another? Sixty-seven years stood between them, except if you watched closely, that gap didn't seem like such a leap. The tiny human batted his lashes, the old man smiled. The tiny human babbled in some language only he could understand, but the old man responded as if he caught and processed every single word. The tiny human chomped a crusty piece of bread, his big forest eyes cutting to the old man who was doing the same. One human, brand spanking new to the world, and the other tightly holding on to final days, they made quite a pair and I struggled not to cry into my coleslaw.

Oh, how I wanted to freeze those moments so that I could play them over and over. I considered getting my phone, snapping a shot or two, but changed my mind, remembering my youngest daughter's rule of no cellphones at the table, period. Instead, I ate my own plate of spaghetti, contributed to my part of the conversation, and soaked up the precious images of a Sunday dinner that might never come again.

As I carried the tiny human to his mama's car at the end of our evening, I savored his little fist holding tightly to my shirt. I happily accepted his sloppy, wet "bye-bye kisses" and responded in kind to his adorable growls that never cease to make me giggle. We looked for the elusive moon, hiding behind a bank of clouds. We snuggled as he leaned his little head against my face, waiting for me to whisper secrets in his ear. It is a habit of his that charms me to the core, and I never disappoint him, always having something to say...which mostly only he and I share. But today, I share with you the words I whispered to my favorite tiny human in the entire world. I said, "Colin Michael, you are so loved. You're going to grow strong, build a magical life for yourself, and have the support of more people than you can possibly imagine, who will silently and/or openly cheer you on." He put his little hands on my face when I was done. "Buy...bbbbuy....buy," he said, then pressed his mouth to my lips. I returned his kisses and nibbled his cheek for good measure, then handed him over to his mother. I didn't even taste my Sunday dinner. Instead, I savored the moments, gobbling them up like a starving woman who never knew life, itself, could taste so good.

Three weeks into a new school year, and I'm feeling this euphoric "tired" that I'd almost forgotten. I'm almost afraid to say out loud how much I love being back in a classroom because I never thought I'd have an experience like this again...and maybe if I put it to words, it will vanish like a great dream you don't want to wake up from. It is impossible to watch a group of students digging learning stuff and not get excited right along with them. These short humans are our future, cliche' as it may sound, and their ability to grow up in a nurturing environment, where they believe in themselves and grow a passion to set the world on fire is a magical experience.

The average person has absolutely zero clue the unbelievable work that goes into creating a positive learning experience. It's about like trying to staple jello to a tree that keeps moving! I have three ninety-minute sessions of "teaching" per day. That's the easiest part. What people don't know is the preparation, meetings ad nauseum, phone calls, paperwork, grading, logging grades, and a host of other things that get thrown randomly into the mix that happen on a daily basis. In the morning, I hit the ground running and I don't stop until...the work is done. Except, the work is never done. I take lesson plans with me to bed, working them out in my mind, or jotting ideas on post-it notes to expand on later. Meanwhile, my laundry has piled up to mini-mountains on my office floor, I don't remember the last time I vacuumed, and God knows I'd be eternally grateful for a toilet that would scrub itself as needed!

In spite of all the challenges, I cannot tell you how much I love my job. My ONLY regret is that my second career, i.e. my writing, has slowed to a snail's pace crawl. I would come to my laptop each evening, dear readers, and regale you with the madness of my day, but honestly, nobody wants to hear me talk "teacher" in my blogs all the time (although I did have a student ask me day before yesterday if I was married...might be the sweetest thing that's happened to me in a week). I promise I will find a way to incorporate my writing career into my teaching life, as I've gotten many side notes asking me where the "words" were! Thanks for not giving up on me! Once again, this chica is in search of "balance". Story of my life on a myriad of topics, I tell ya! I can't even tell you how much I adore all of you who are still with me!

Always,
A., Your Neighborhood TIRED Teach

The sky is still filled with stars when I wake up. As I drag my booty out of bed, I'm already mentally working on the lesson plans for the day, how I want them to unfold, and what connections they will make, so that my kiddos can begin to see the overlap of just about everything in life. I had forgotten what a joyously exhausting process all of this can be.

The sky is turning shades of pink, as I make the drive to the place where all the short humans gather, with their sharpened pencils, notes to pass to that cute "someone", and heads full of dreams. I crank the music loud in my car, knowing it will help chase the last of sleep from my tired bones. Trust me, you don't bring anything less than your "A-Game" to a classroom of students or they will eat you alive!

My day flies by in this wild blur, and even though I do basically the same lessons to three separate classes, it is always different. Today, our focus was on 9/11. Most of the students didn't have a clue of the significance, which threw me totally off my game. On September 11, 2001, I was getting ready for work when the first plane hit the first tower in New York City. My husband was active duty Air Force and our base went on lockdown. I struggled over breakfast, trying to decide if I should send our daughters to school, all the while knowing I couldn't stay away from my own students. The other "first" that year...teaching. It felt like the world was going crazy and we were all just along for the ride, so flashing forward to 15 years in the future, I couldn't even fathom this group who were completely unaware of such a monumental event. Then it hit me. None of them were even born the day that happened.

I gently walked three classes of kids through a day that still made me choke up with emotion. We watched a video from PBS.org...Six Word Memoirs. I couldn't read the three Memoirs aloud, too filled with raw emotion, so the students read them for me....the first, from a brother of a Firefighter Captain at Engine Company 21, who radioed to his men, "Keep going, I'm right behind you." Except, he wasn't, and lost his life that day. The second, a young wife whose husband was on one of the planes that crashed into the Twin Towers, her six word memoir, "Grief opened the gates of compassion." In the aftermath of her loss, she found a way to connect to women in Afghanistan, and helped build the only Women's Center there (as of 2011). The final story, "Our loved ones are finally home," was delivered by a young woman whose husband was working in one of the Towers. His remains were never found, so she doggedly helped in the process of building the memorial that stands at the site today. And when she's there, she feels as if her husband has come "home." Each story summed up by six little words, and my students got the message, words have power! We spent what was left of their time with me talking about how their own voices can have power, too. I promised to teach them how to bring that power to light, work their magic, and I swear as I sit here typing, I will NOT let them down.

My own words have been missing from this site for several weeks. Just know that when I am "absent" from this place, it is because I have poured so much of me elsewhere, I am barely able to collect my own thoughts at the end of the day when it is done. I did want to include an update on the ol' mountain man...the chemo is helping buy him precious time. How much? Nobody knows. But considering a month ago he was at death's door and now he's having more quality days than he did in the last four years, we'll take it! Thank you to all of you who have been doggedly supportive of me and my family. It is most appreciated.