Dear Momma Teacher,
Being a mom is hard. Being a teacher is hard. Being a momma teacher is the hardest of all.
If you become a teacher before you become a mom, good luck finding a baby name. There isn't a boy or girl name in the glossary that does not elicit strong feelings for or against the name.
From birth, it doesn't get much better. If you're an elementary teacher, you can forget attending your own child's Christmas party. You're going to be planning an over-the-top shindig for other people's children.
If you're a secondary teacher, when your own child rolls his eyes or sighs in disgust, you'll unleash all your stored up wrath from when a smug kid in class made the exact same face.
And if you're being honest, maybe you're a little more neglectful of your own children than you should be. This is because work and home are so difficult to separate. It's the only occupation where you come home to the very thing you left. For instance, after grading 127 thesis statements that look like a giraffe threw up on loose leaf paper, the last thing you want to do is help your own child with his vomit, so sometimes you don't.
Then he comes home with a "C" on the assignment, and maybe you're a little okay with that because at least it's his "C" unlike the 20 or so stellar thesis statements you know parents with a college degree wrote. Then comes the judgment, "Isn't your mom a teacher?" as if your occupation somehow places your child in a different expectation bracket. It's enough to make you want to say, "Yes, yes I am, but my kid has four empty Gatorade bottles in his bedroom, atrocious handwriting, and a messy backpack, just like your kid," but you won't say that, of course, because teachers aren't allowed to speak their true minds in public.
You also won't say that because you know it's not his fault you picked this profession. Some days you regret your choice. Truthfully, many days you regret your choice. I have often said my greatest fear in being an educator is that one day I will wake up to the frightful realization that I poured into everyone's child but my own. I think I fear this because steering other people's children in the right direction can often mimic the fulfillment of motherhood. That's why we call our students "our children."
And in many ways, they really are, which is why you love your career choice more days than you regret it. Deep down, you know you are among a rare group who scores two sets of children in one lifetime.
Still, as much as we love our school children, we won't loop up with them every year, nor will we set an alarm to check their fever and give them Tylenol every four hours. We won't cheer at their first steps, cut up their meat on a plate, sit with them at dentist appointments, pay for their outrageous car insurance, attend every practice, or wash their underwear.
There's only one set of students who get you for the long haul. Cliche as it may sound, the days really are long, but the years are short. They'll only be under your roof for a few short years, and you only have a small space of time to teach them how to make a difference in the world.
I'm still in the throes of the mid-years of parenting, which means I have no idea how this whole thing will pan out or if I'm doing it all wrong. Chances are I am, but I do know this much.
I don't want to spend these prime years beating my head against a brick wall over empty Gatorade bottles or poorly written thesis statements, nor do I want the years to pass me by without actively investing in that which will outlive me: my two sons.
More importantly, I don't want to be blind to the fact that when the last bell rings, the red ink runs dry, and the lesson plan book is closed for the final time, I won't be evaluated on how many students passed the AP exam or graduated from high school. I won't be questioned on my adequately yearly progress or my professional development plan. What will matter most is what I gave the world in the manner in which I raised my children, and I know I'll ultimately have to give an account when I am asked, "What did you do with what you were given?"
-CDB