It’s Sunday night.
The last Sunday night in which I won’t have to make sure my alarm is set for 5 am (and perhaps earlier now) to wake up and get ready to head back into my classroom on a Monday morning.
And it’s even that getting up at that time is the problem; with a 3-month old daughter still actively breastfeeding, it’s a sure thing that she is getting me up plenty throughout the night. But, gosh, isn’t Isabelle Mia adorable?
I was blessed with an incredible maternity leave when Oliver was born. He arrived 10 days early on February 7th, 2016 in the final minutes of the 4th quarter of the Superbowl. The Denver Broncos vs the Carolina Panthers. 24-10. And yes, the game was on in the delivery room. There will be another post about his birth another time.
The timing was perfect though. Based on how various breaks and holidays fell, including summer, I could stay home from work until the following school year in late July. That gave us 5 incredible months to bond.
And the day that I returned was the last day he and I had together without formula. Not that formula is bad or wrong or any other negative thing. Originally, I had been hoping for 6 months, but once I set foot back in those doors, and the pressure of having to lesson plan for 20 minutes so I could frantically set up in the nurses’ office to pump, only to get at most 2 ounces, and at the least less than a quarter of an ounce, well, it halted that relationship instantaneously.
This is the same fear I have for Isabelle.
Teaching drama for high school is filled with enough drama as it is without having to apologize for the whole, “Hi, I’m back. No, just kidding. I’m not. I have to go pump and leave your class…again.”
Pump? From your breasts!? (Insert immature teenage laughter here)
And, if we are being honest, what I am feeling is not necessarily embarrassment, but rather the foreshadowed mounting heaps of anxiety that awaits me as I unlock the door of room 759. As the drama teacher, who, 10 years ago, had the implosion of the most grand ideas for what I could do if I were ever granted access to this rare opening in the teaching profession. It is a DREAM job.
For most.
What thespian wouldn’t want to get paid a “decent” salary to direct their most very favorite plays and musicals?
Only one year into a full-time gig and there is a laundry list of reasons why the grass is for certain not greener on this side. And while I am sure I could go on and on about this particular grievance for several more words, I’ll just leave it as this:
LOTS. OF. EXTRA. WORK.
Here is the agenda upon the first day back:
1. Figure out exactly where FOUR entirely different levels and courses of drama classes are at, in curriculum that hasn’t even been fully crafted for it was never developed until I entered in this year;
2. Figure out where to go from there;
3. Jump into a murder mystery dinner play. I have never read the play, but my amazing substitute held auditions and has been running rehearsals since December;
3B. Beg my drama booster VP to find a restaurant wiling to donate food for this!
4. Continue preparations for the upcoming Spring Break trip to New York City with 21 students;
5. Meet all the new students that were placed in my class mid-year and hopefully don’t make them feel awkwardly uncomfortable when my students want to spend the first day of my return catching up;
6. Oh yeah. Within the first week back, schedule auditions for advanced placement in my classes next year. (All the other electives already have done that, or are doing it now, AND got to promote their courses when the middle school students toured last week);
7. Make sure that the improvisation troupe has regularly scheduled rehearsals;
8. Catch up on everything school-related that I missed;
9. Be prepared for a surprise walk-through and/or official evaluation;
10. Plan club meetings, including the thespian induction ceremony.
The sad part about the above 10 facts is that there are about 10 more that I could add on, but I won’t, at least not on this platform.
I can’t mention them, let alone think about them, let alone list them right now because my anxiety would go through the roof.
Truth be told, I do so much more than what I get paid to do. It’s a cliche that teachers do this sort of thing. But it’s a drain.
It’s a drain on my time from my family, on my heart, on my well-being.
I’m not 26 anymore. I’m 36. And my priorities have changed.
I must learn how to balance the unbalance-able.
During my three month hiatus, I have COMPLETELY shut-off work (with the exception of a couple of unavoidable issues).
This is going to be so hard.
So hard.
But I need a job. And the students need a teacher. And I need to be there. For them.
For my family.
“Fear not, for I am with you;
Be not dismayed, for I am your God.
I will strengthen you,
Yes, I will help you,
I will uphold you with My righteous right hand.’”– Isaiah 41:10 NKJV
