Real Talk
The Early Morning Routine
I begrudgingly open my eyes to my morning alarm going off for the third time. It’s 5:45 a.m., which gives me approximately one hour before I need to have myself and my three kids ready, fed, and loaded into the car for our morning commute.
I clock in at 7:20 sharp each morning. There’s about a ten minute window between saying my “bye, love you, have a great day”s to my own kids, and when the “welcome”s begin at my classroom door. This 10 minutes is filled with the rush of crossing the school parking lot, fumbling for classroom keys, flipping on light switches, and sipping on an energy drink I pray will kick in quickly. I will undoubtedly kick myself for not getting up a few minutes sooner and being more like Mrs. Betty across the hallway, who seems much more prepared and bright-eyed by the time I arrive.
As the morning goes on, I wish I could say that the chaos dissolves, but it’s quite the contrary. I look past the stacks of papers behind my desk, I write my objectives for the day, take attendance, and I begin teaching a room full of students before it’s even 8 a.m. — pushing aside all other tasks for a “later time”, which typically never comes.
School Begins…
However, the mornings are typically the best part of my day as an educator. The attention spans from my students are peaking mid-morning, I’ve only taught this English lesson three times at this point, and that energy drink is finally kicking in. I’ve been “on” all morning, and I’m looking forward to my planning period next.
Now this is the point of the day where things can often seem to *derail* from the loose track we’ve been gliding on all day.
…and My Plate Gets Added To
A knock on my door reveals the vice principal. “Could you cover Mr. Stinson’s class during your planning period? I’m sorry, but we haven’t been able to find a substitute teacher today.”
“Yes, that’s fine.”
The stack of essays stare at me from behind my desk, once again. This time, they’re a little taller. I’ll catch up during lunch time. Oh, and my monthly objectives are due by end of day. I also need to print those copies for fifth period.
I grab my laptop and walk down the hall to the teacher’s class that I’m covering.
“Do you know what we’re supposed to do? I don’t have the right book. This isn’t what we’re supposed to be doing today.”
I put out fires for the students and before I know it, it’s time for lunch. I walk the students to the cafeteria and return back to my room.
“Lunch”
I think of all the things I should do, but I turn my light off, and lay my head on my desk for a solid ten minutes while I try to recenter myself in the first moment I’ve had alone. My seventh period class goes to the library today, so that should give me some much-needed time to complete my to-do list outside of the two lessons I still have to teach. I scarf down a cheese quesadilla and a Diet Coke, adding to the caffeine tally of the day.
I lock back in on the good stuff — the teaching. As more kids file into my classroom, I try to give my afternoon English classes the same charisma as the morning version of me. I feel myself looking at the clock; the energy levels are dipping and I wish I’d worn my tennis shoes today.
The Afternoon Scramble
Another knock on my door — it’s the librarian. “I have to cover snack duty today. They don’t have anyone else to do it. I’m sorry I won’t be able to take your kiddos to check out books.”
“That’s okay.”
I scramble to find the movie version of the book we’re reading in the back of my unorganized closet. After all, I desperately need to buy myself some time to finish all the things that are due today. I press play on The Count of Monte Cristo and open my laptop. A knock on my door reveals the principal. It’s a surprise evaluation, just what my busy day as a teacher needs.
Excellent timing.
I let the movie play, stopping it periodically to ask questions and engage the students, hoping to salvage my dignity during this surprise-seventh-period eval that’s not exactly highlighting my best work.
After School
The bell rings. I sigh a breath of relief as I pack up my things.
“Maybe that went okay?”
I desperately want to go home, but I head out to the softball field because as you know, we teachers are also responsible for the extracurriculars. Softball season brings my longest days. My own kids join me, eating snacks in the dugout and doing their homework on bleachers.
Around 5 p.m., we huddle up and dismiss for the day. Finally, I get to drive home, feeling extra thankful for the crockpot that cooked tonight’s dinner. I try my best to give each of my kids the same energy and intention as I did my students today. I try my best not to complain; it’s just hard when I’ve been “on” all day.
At the End of the Day
That’s the reality of a teacher’s day. It’s an endless relay race that’s never finished. It’s filled with small favors we’re expected to do, which add up and take away from our ability to be the best version of ourselves. That’s a big reason why it’s a career path that can burn us all the way out so easily if we let it.
So I read bedtime stories and say my “goodnights” and make plans to catch up with my husband after the kids go down, maybe doom-scroll on my phone for a few minutes, or disassociate in the bathtub. Instead, I fall asleep while laying in my daughter’s bed with her, only to be woken up by my morning alarm.
Then I do it all again.
