I look forward to Mondays.
I look forward to the challenges I will face with my students. To the words I will discover they don’t know and figuring out a meaningful way to act them out and a poster I can make to anchor that knowledge.
To the complete change in my lesson plans, because nothing’s as I thought it might be.
I look forward to the cafeteria lunches, to the air conditioning, to the afternoon snacks. To delicious food I didn’t have to cook and don’t have to clean. God bless our staff.
I look forward to the hugs from my students that act as though we’ve been apart for weeks. And the furious Portuguese/English/pantomime account of their weekend. And the love notes and post-its they find a way to hide in my room every day.
I look forward to the bone-tired way I feel at two pm, counting the minutes until the kids leave, but wanting to make every minute count. I look forward to the small victories, the mutual eye rolls with coworkers, the delirious runs for coffee at the end of the day. To the next weird song I hear being sung from the kindergarten bathroom (last week it was “Take on Me”).
To the un-capping of a brand new dry erase marker (since I hoard them like Gollum, only opening a new one once a week).
I look forward to recess duty and the curious mix of truth and lies that children will tell in order to get water from a fountain they know they’re not supposed to visit.
I look forward to stilted conversations in Portuguese with the cleaning staff, bustling about on my desk to make sure I’ve tidied up. To the random emails from coworkers defending Canada, or the right to wear jeans because it’s a field trip day, or own a moose, or whatever it is we pretend to care about at the moment.
I look forward to how good sleep feels when it’s hard-earned and well-learned.
It’s good to teach.
My favorite moment of the week:
I showed a kid how to spell the days of the week, and at “Tuesday,” I think he thought I was joking. (“But Miss…it not is “Twosday?” It is second day.” I know, kid, I know.)
When we got to “Wednesday,” he was looking at me like I was out of my mind. I think if he could have said “damn you, speakers of English,” he would have.
In Portuguese, the days of the week are “second, third, fourth, fifth, sixth, Saturday, Sunday,” because they have their priorities straight aka “we’re just waiting for the weekend. Every week.