Back-to-School Sleeplessness

*Somehow this spur of the moment post became a lengthy teacher memoir...I'm going to keep it for my records, but feel no obligation to read, friends ;)

*We're now two years on board the Back-to-School Feast bandwagon.  No crowns, but we do introduce a theme and make homemade ice cream.  This year, vanilla to go with our first ever home-grown- from-our-own-tree peaches *exclamation point*  

I haven't cried every year during Back-to-School (parents only) night.  When I was a teacher at APA, I couldn't really even visit my kids' classes for more than a quick thumbs up and token receipt of an orientation packet (detailing all the policies I'd already typed up for my own students' parents), but I knew their teachers and they knew me.   Even last year when I wasn't working at APA, Spencer's teacher was my dear friend, and Lucy's teacher was paired with my old classroom instructor.  "They already know," I knew.  And that was a relief.    

And Lucy's teacher this year knows.  He was actually part of our Provo ward for a short time before Wes passed away and before the kids and I moved to Payson.  So no need for an awkward conversation with Mr. H (who will, no doubt, be a great blessing for Lucy this year).

But I just met Spencer's teacher for the first time on Friday, and I needed to tell her tonight.

I never plan on the tears.  I always start off strong.  I guess there's just something so inherently vulnerable about giving your child over to someone else's care for seven hours a day, five days a week - something so uncomfortably dependent about entrusting him to another person's keeping - especially someone completely unfamiliar.

I was embarrassed by my emotion.  Mrs. R was sympathetic.  Of course she was.  We also discussed how she has already moved Spencer's desk because of his chatter-boxing.  Of course she has.

I was a jumble of thoughts and emotions on the drive back home.  I called for jammies and teeth- brushing earlier than usual, kissed Lucy good night over the top of The Magician's Nephew and then sat down to read a chapter of Farmer Boy to Spencer while he stroked my arm.  Just before falling asleep he asked me, "Mom, what were some things you did today while we were at school?"  I told him about laundry and lawn mowing (and smiled over his thoughtful interest).

When his room was quiet, I thought again about his classroom and his teacher and wondered - will she see him?

Teachers have so many tasks and are spread so thin.  I know.  I remember.  And, of course, I want my children to be accommodating and respectful.  I really, really do.  But last year I kind of got into the bad habit of apologizing about Spencer.  Because he is, in fact, a talker.  He loves laughing.  He has a big voice.  Those ingredients do not always a "perfectly respectful" student make ;) But man, he is such a friendly kid.  Such a builder of relationships.  So loyal.  So interested.  "Mom, what were some things you did while we were at school?"  And he loves to learn.  And he wants to please, even if he sometimes forgets the proscribed (quiet) methods of doing so.  And certainly, he is also sometimes a complainer.  And his humor is often over the top.  But he is also tidy and quite responsible.  There are both sides.  And I just hope she sees.  

As a parent and a teacher I've loved having the chance to see those two sides at play - in every child.  Strengths and weaknesses.  Every child has both.

I knew Lucy's first grade teacher was a winner the first time she told me, "we need to get Lucy moving from task to task a little faster."  All of Lucy's previous teachers always told me the same three sentences:  "She's so smart!  She's so cute!  She's so quiet!"  And I loved hearing those things.  But when I heard Mrs. K's observation (one that was obvious to me as Lucy's mom), I knew: "she sees my child."

As a teacher myself, I remember darling J, my first year of Kindergarten.  It didn't matter how many times we vacuumed the floor.  The carpet around his desk was always covered with scraps.  By the end of every day, his shirt was always soggy from chewing on his collar, and he couldn't keep a crayon in his pencil box to save his life.  We tried all kinds of incentives and reminders to help build his organization skills, but by around December the conversation was cemented:
"Mrs. Truman!  I only have a purple and a pink! (the two colors he never used and therefore never lost)."
"Yeah, pal.  I know."

But that boy was completely eager to learn!  Magnets, presidents, slavery, seasons...always intent eyes, thoughtful expressions, and, if he had a question or comment?  I can still see his hand raised with his whole body, his eyebrows touching the roof until I called on him.

Strengths and weaknesses.

Last year I had a darling, ideal student who always followed directions and completed every procedure to perfection.  I absolutely adored her and her reliability and respectfulness.  And yet I remember her occasionally telling little fibs to cover up mistakes or in order to please or impress me.  And I see that weakness in myself - defensiveness, wanting to save face, alway wanting to please, hating to disappoint.    

Strengths and weaknesses.  Everyone has both.  Sometime a particular strength or weakness is so visible that it is, truly, hard to see the other side of the coin.

The well behaved little girl mentioned above had a peer who was much more emotionally volatile - a darling little girl who would melt over difficult tasks (like putting away toys), or stubbornly, utterly refuse to follow directions (like leave the sandbox when school was over).  She was certainly a more difficult "behavioral management" student than others in her class, but she was not without her own remarkable strengths.  I noticed that whenever she was upset or distraught, she was always so good at identifying and owning her emotions:  "I so angry right now!" she'd say, or "I'm feeling so sad!"  Even in a disagreement with a friend, she never blamed, instead she'd say things like, "I feel too sad when you do that!"  Such good, healthy emotional awareness!  And she was the most empathetic child in our class - so quick to respond when someone else was hurt or sad!!

I remember another boy my first year of teaching who was a pull-your-hair-out perfectionist.  When even the slowest writer in the class was finished and running out to recess, there was T, still erasing and re-writing, erasing and re-writing the first letter of his first word.  Caring was a weakness for him in some ways, but it was a great strength in others.  I will always remember teaching his class about Martin Luther King Jr.  All the children were engaged, but T was riveted. Two subjects later, he was raising his hand, pointing to the poster of MLK on the wall.  "What was his name again??  Will you please write it right here?  I want to tell my mom about that man."  That caring - what a great strength.

And so, at the end of the day, as I think about my children and anticipate another year of so much time away from home, I certainly hope they'll have help in identifying and overcoming their weaknesses.

But I also pray that their strengths will be seen.  And I pray for that rounded vision as I parent and teach too.