You are the Reason

I am currently in my 17th year of teaching.  Ten of those years were as a 4th grade teacher, 3 of those months were as my own son's kindergarten teacher while his teacher was on maternity leave, and 6 of those years have been as a Teacher Librarian, which is my current position. 

All of that to say, I have taught a lot of different kids of a lot of different ages in a lot of different settings. I have seen a lot and experienced a lot as a teacher. But up until now, I had never taught a single student from my own home.  I had never recorded a lesson from my basement.  I had never read aloud a book to a camera.  I had never asked a student to unmute herself when she had something to share. 

Since March 13, however, that has all changed.

I have now set up a make shift desk space in my basement. I have now facilitated virtual author visits. I have now connected with every class I teach by joining their classroom Google Meet or Zoom meetings. 

25 classes. Nearly 600 students. 

That has turned out to be a lot of different kids of a lot different ages in a lot of different settings. I now know more about Zoom meetings than I ever wanted to know. I've been in over 30 virutal meetings with students.  To begin most of the meetings, I silently repeat in my head “Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.” as soon as all those faces I haven’t seen in way too long start popping up on the screen. 

And I haven’t. 

My heart swells. Emotions flood in. I hear a voice I haven't heard in weeks.  I see a face I've been missing since March. But I’ve been able to stick to my “Don’t cry” mantra. Sometimes I laugh at something they say or do. Sometimes I nod as I agree with something they say about this situation we currently find ourselves in that is wise beyond their years. Sometimes I just take it all in as I hear them eating whatever crunchy snack they’ve brought to the meeting, or watch them walk around their house while holding their portable device, or look at their eyeball taking up the whole screen as they press their face against the camera, or watch them hold up every single stuffed animal they own, one by one, while the lesson is happening. Always, always, always, we talk books and reading. 

But I’ve been able to keep the tears at bay. 

This afternoon, I saw the last class I had yet to meet with. It was a Developmental Kindergarten class, some of my very youngest learners. The classroom teacher welcomed them all and got them settled. And muted. I said hello and read aloud a picture book. While I was reading, I started to think about how much I have taken for granted the magical experience of reading a book together, what joy it can bring. I've read a lot of books aloud through these meetings, but for some reason, this one was especially fun. When I finished reading aloud, I asked if anyone wanted to share anything with me or ask me a question. 

An eagerly raised hand and a bright smile from one girl quickly told me she did. 

“Hi Mrs. Davies!! I really liked that book and I miss you and I love you so so so so much!!!” 

Her words came out fast, in one long string, and there are not enough exclamation marks in the world to accurately communicate the excitement in her voice. 

And I tried and I tried and I tried, but I just couldn’t hold it together this time. I don’t know if it was just the day or the time or the sweet little voice or that my emotional tank was just empty. But my voice cracked and my eyes welled up and I simply said “Thank you. I'm so glad you liked the book and I miss you and love you so so so so much, too!”

And I do. 

Kids are the heart of my teaching. Their smiles. Their stories. Their connections. I miss and love all these kids so so so so much. 

All teachers do. 

We miss you and we love you so so so so much. The students we have now. The students we had last year. The students we had years ago that are now graduating in these difficult circumstances. The students who no doubt will be finding solutions to the problems we currently face. You are on our hearts and our minds more than you will ever ever know.

You are the reason we became teachers.  You are the reason we come to work everyday, whether in a school building or in our own homes.  You are the reason we get up early and stay up late, planning lessons, grading papers and worrying about you and wanting the very best for you. You are the reason we show up on Zoom calls and have virtual office hours and record video lessons, that may or may not include interruptions from our own children dressed in their unicorn Halloween costumes. You are the reason we keep going and plugging away, even when it is hard, to find innovative ways for remote learning to happen. You are the reason we were devastated when it was announced that schools were closed for the remainder of the year.  It's you.  It's always been you.  You are the reason we became teachers                                  . 

We miss you and we love you so so so so much. 

You Are More

When it comes to being a Mom, identity can be a pretty tricky thing.  

I mean, let's face it.  Being a Mom is a big role.  A huge role.  Sometimes, an all-consuming role.  It is incredibly easy to lose yourself and who you are in the midst of all that Momming.  

As soon as you are holding that sweet little bundle in your arms, instantly that is what people ask about when they see you.  And rightfully so.  You love that baby more than you thought you could love anything in this world.  You gladly answer those questions about how much your baby is eating or how they are sleeping or what new adorable thing they are starting to do.  Questions are no longer directed to you, as a person, but they are directed to you, as a Mom.

When your child is old enough to start having friends, whether at day care or in the neighborhood or at school, your name even begins to reflect this shift.  You are now "so and so's Mom."  Your identity in that realm is now as Mom.  Other kids aren't at all interested in what your actual name is, and might honestly not even realize you have your own actual name.  And rightfully so.  You love being that kiddo's Mom, and there is great joy in knowing they have friends and even more amazingly, friends who know who you are.  You are no longer addressed as you, the person with a lovely name all your own, but you, "so and so's Mom."

But what's really crazy, is that the role of being a Mom is so enormous and complex that you can even lose your identity as a Mom within the role of being a Mom.

Sorry.  That was a confusing sentence.  

We are on day eleventy billion of self-isolation.  Which is clearly now reflected in my scrambled thoughts and writing.  Here, let me explain...

In the busyness that comes with being a Mom, we can lose who we are as a Mom in the hustle and bustle and constant demands and chaos of it all.  

In our house, spring always seems to be a little bit of a blur.  I often joke that from the day we get back from Spring Break until the last day of school it is an absolute, full throttle sprint.  It is soccer and softball and running clubs.  It is concerts and recitals.  It is lots of spring birthdays.  It is end-of-the-year everything and celebrations at school.  I feel like being a Mom takes on a life of it's own in the spring months.  And I love it all.  Every single second of it.  I really do.  

All that busyness helps me to know who I am as a Mom.  There are needs, and I know how to meet them.  

Who am I as a Mom?  

I know the answer to that question better than I know the bag chairs I haul in and out of my minivan and spend hours sitting in at various softball and soccer fields a million times a week in the spring.

I'm the Mom who spends the hours between 4:00pm and 9:00pm dropping children off and picking children up and dropping children off again at fields and practices within a 4 square mile radius.

I'm the Mom who signs the planners and returns the notes for the special events at school.

I'm the Mom who makes sure the uniforms are washed and ready for whatever game is on the calendar for that day.

I'm the Mom who keeps track of that jam-packed calendar.

I'm the Mom at the end of year band concert or piano recital.

I'm the Mom who brings snacks for the team or sends cupcakes to school for a birthday treat.

I'm the Mom on the field trip or at the school picnic or field day.

That's who I am as a Mom.

But with the "pause" we are currently in, I've come to realize that question becomes harder for me to answer so quickly.  It's made me come to recognize I sometimes find my identity as a Mom in all that stuff and doing and busyness.

If I'm not that Mom, then what?

Who am I as a Mom?

I'm not gonna lie.  This question has kinda been haunting me these past few weeks.  I am in a different space and pace right now, and truth be told, it's made me feel a little unsettled and uncomfortable and uneasy.  And I've finally come to understand that this question was unknowingly at the root of a lot of those feelings.

Who am I as a Mom?

My daughter answered that for me yesterday.  Thankfully, she is infinitely smarter and more insightful than I am.  We were standing at the stove, and she had just finished dumping in the ingredients she had gathered to make play dough into the small saucepan on the front burner.  

"Mom, I'm actually kinda glad we have this time off. I get to do all these things I don't normally get to do with you."

Boom.  Mic drop.  End scene.

There it was.  In her 9-year-old truth telling, she laid it out for me.  She told me who I was as a Mom.

I am the Mom who makes play dough with her.  

She started the morning asking about making her own play dough because when she hauled out her Playdoh stuff, all the containers she had were either empty or completely dried out.  Now, mind you, she has not pulled out her Playdoh stuff in months.  But she is pulling out all the stops in terms of entertainment lately.  When she asked if she could make play dough, I told her she had to be in charge of it.  If she could find a recipe that was easy enough for her to do and was not too messy and did not involve leaving the house to get any ingredients, then yes, she could make play dough.  

I kind of wrote off the play dough thing, as I didn't hear from her for a while.  But with her tenacity, I should have known this play dough thing was not done.  Thirty minutes later, she emerged from her room asking "Mom, do we have any cream of tartar?"  And what do you know? We did.  A completely unopened small jar of cream of tartar.  Why that particular item ever made it into my shopping cart, into my spice cupboard, and stayed there for who knows how long remains a mystery to me.  But apparently, it was for such a time as this.  

And here's the thing.  I said yes.  Not just to the cream of tartar question.  But ultimately to the question of "Can I make play dough?" and "Can you do this with me?" and "Do we have time to do this?" and "Can we just try this and hang out together and see where it goes?"

Yes. Yes. Yes. And Yes.

On any other spring Saturday morning, making play dough would not have even crossed her mind as we left the house early for back to back to back games and birthday parties and bonfires and whatever else the day held.   And if for some strange reason she did ask me to make play dough on any other spring Saturday morning, the answer would have been 'no' or 'later' which, let's not kid ourselves, is just busy mom code for 'no.'

So there it is.  My daughter taught me something about myself yesterday without even knowing it, as she so often does.  

I am the Mom who makes play dough with her.

I am the Mom who makes crepes and lemon curd and whatever other new cooking adventure she wants to try with her.

I am the Mom who eats breakfast with her, even on weekdays.

I am the Mom who wears pajamas with her all day.

I am the Mom who watches Frozen II and Onward and Teen Beach Movie with her.  (Thanks, Disney+).

I am the Mom who has a dance party with her.

I am the Mom who laughs at something completely and utterly ridiculous with her.

I am the Mom who sits in her bed with her for an hour listening to her talk about what may or may not happen around her upcoming 10th birthday and realizes just how big this is in her world right now.  

I am the Mom who slows down enough to not only listen to what she is saying, but also to hear what she isn't saying, too.

I am the Mom who plays endless games of Racko and Yahtzee with her.

I am the Mom who makes memories with her.

It's ok if your identity as a Mom has changed in the midst of all of this.  It doesn't make you any less of a Mom.  On the contrary, it makes you more of a Mom.  You're exploring and learning about a whole new part of your Mom identity.  You're adding to your Mom repertoire. Or maybe you're remembering a part of your Mom identity that's always been there, but for whatever reason, has been hidden away for awhile. 

Just like any phase of life, you will eventually move forward from this particular time and space, but the things you've learned and the newly acquired aspects of your Mom identity will remain.  Whenever that time comes, though, please remember this:  You can choose what parts of your past Mom identity you want to put back on and what parts you want to leave behind.  You can decide which parts of your newfound Mom identity you want to bring with you, and which ones you'll tuck away for another season. 

You are more than car pools and packed school lunches and signed planners.  All of those things are valuable and important.  But please don't forget that those things don't define who are as a Mom. 

You are your kids' safe place.  You are their comfort.  You are their anchor.  You are their smiles.  You are their tears.  You are their good mornings and good nights.  You are their protector.  You are their encourager.  You are their guide.  You are their cheerleader.  You are their Mom.

You have always been all these things.  It's just that sometimes in the midst of all the car pools and packed school lunches and signed planners, it's easy to lose track of that part of your Mom identity.

You are more than you thought.  You are more than you believed.  You are more than you imagined.  You are a Good Mom.

"Mom Guilt" Doesn't Social Distance Well

Mom Guilt.

If you're a Mom, those two little words are not new to you. From the moment you become a Mom, there are endless opportunities for Mom Guilt to make itself known.  It's as though every miraculous milestone along the road of Motherhood is also marked with a chance to experience Mom Guilt at the same time.  Wherever there is a choice to be made or a question to be answered, there is an opening for Mom Guilt to sneak in.  And we all know just how many choices Moms make and questions Moms answer in a single hour, let along a single day.  So Mom Guilt? Yeah, there's a lot of opportunities to feel it.  Here are a just a few...

This Mom gig is the most important job I will ever have.  What if I fail at it miserably?

Did I pick the right brand of diapers? Am I spending too much on diapers? Should I be using cloth diapers?

Am I saying "yes" to my toddler too much? Am I saying "no" to my toddler too much?

Is my school-aged kid making friends?  Too many friends? Not enough friends? The kind of friends that will encourage and support them and help them become kind, caring human beings?

How much freedom is too much for my tween?  Do I need to step in more?  Should I be stepping back more?

And parents of teenagers, I don't even know.  You are all my heroes.  I'm not even gonna pretend to know the Mom Guilt issues you wrestle with at that age and stage.

Am I doing enough? Am I enough?

The list goes on and on and on...  And you wanna know what is worse that Mom Guilt?  Mom Guilt during social distancing, that's what.

Mom Guilt does not socially distance well.

I have learned this all too well in the past 3 weeks.  Mom Guilt does not stay an appropriate 6 feet away from me.  It is up in my personal space, coughing and sneezing, and not even into it's elbow.  It doesn't wash it's hands or even use hand sanitizer.  It bought all of the toilet paper and reminds me that I didn't buy any when I should have.  Mom Guilt is cozied up right next to me.  I have to stay home, and unfortunately, Mom Guilt has decided to move in and stay home with me, too.



With these hours and days on end of being home, Mom Guilt creeps into my thoughts more often than I care to admit.

My kids are still sleeping.  Mom Guilt.

I can't remember the last time my kids took a shower.  Mom Guilt.

My kids are on their screens.  Again.  Mom Guilt.

My kids have been wearing their pajamas all day long.  Mom Guilt.

My kids are eating Pop Tarts. And Fruit Roll Ups.  And Gatorade.  And microwavable Kraft Macaroni and Cheese.  And Girl Scout cookies.  Pretty much all day long.  Mom Guilt.

My kids didn't complete any school work for the day.  Mom Guilt.

My kids have no idea what a "reasonable bedtime" even is any more.  Mom Guilt.

My kids aren't getting enough alone time.  Mom Guilt.

My kids are binge watching another episode of LEGO Masters or DuckTales or Alone and have lost track of what episode they are on. Mom Guilt.

Just for the record, I love my kids dearly.  None of this stuff is about them.  It's about me.  It's about the trap of unrealistic expectations I so easily fall into.

That's really what Mom Guilt is all about, isn't it?  It's not the Mom part that's the issue...it's the Guilt part.  It's the guilt we feel -- from ourselves, from society, from social media -- that we should be doing more or doing it differently or doing it better.

As if social distancing isn't enough to ramp up the uninvited house guest that is Mom Guilt right now, then scrolling through social media will gladly aide that process.

We have not established a clearly defined schedule from the moment we wake up until the moment we go to sleep.  Mom Guilt.

We have not decorated our door with any kind of rainbow.  Mom Guilt.

We have not gone on a virtual field trip.  Mom Guilt.

We have not written encouraging chalk messages on our sidewalk.  Mom Guilt.

We have not conducted endless hand-on science experiments or art projects.  Mom Guilt.

We have not cleaned out their closets.  Mom Guilt.

We have not set up a warm and comforting homeschool classroom in our house.  Mom Guilt.

Just for the record, none of these things are bad things.  As a matter of fact, they are all incredible things. Amazing things.  It makes my heart so happy that these things are happening in the world right now, and I think there should be more of these things happening in the world right now.  But the struggle comes when I start to compare myself to these things.  Instead of scrolling through my feed and celebrating all this amazingness, my brain can so easily slip into a place of my feed becoming an endless list of all the missed opportunities ad things I didn't do or provide as a Mom for that day.

So what do we do with all this?  Is there any way to get Mom Guilt to be on its merry little way and self-quarantine somewhere else?

I think the antidote for Mom Guilt can be found in one word: grace.

Here's the ironic thing.  As we were watching Governor Gretchen Whitmer's press conference on Thursday, announcing the closure of Michigan schools for the remainder of the year, that word came to me over and over and over.

Grace.  Grace.  Grace.

The only way we are going to get through this is with grace.  From everyone and to everyone.  Grace was so much on my mind, that I sat and wrote this Facebook post right in the middle of that press conference.

Grace: the charming quality of being polite and pleasant, or a willingness to be fair and to forgive (dictionary.cambridge.org)

Grace.

My hope is we can all extend ridiculous amounts of grace to one another right now.

Grace from parents to teachers.

Grace from teachers to students.

Grace from siblings to siblings. (Wishful thinking maybe? 😉)

Grace from parents to children.

Grace from partner to partner.

Grace from teachers to parents.

Grace from children to parents.

Grace to leaders who are having to make unimaginable decisions.

Grace to those who are scared. Who are anxious. Who are angry. Who are sad. Who are confused.

We are all feeling a lot of big feelings, all of them justified. But we can choose how we act on those feelings.

Grace.

It's what was on my heart.  The unbelievable need for grace at this unique moment in history.  It kept hitting me over and over and over.  How in light of schools closing for the remainder of the year, we all needed to extend grace to one another.  This meant uncharted territory for everyone.  This meant so many big feelings for so many people.  This meant grace was needed now more than ever.  I included so many people in that post, but now realize I forgot quite possibly the most important one.

Grace from myself to myself.

I'm embarrassed to admit it, but I repeatedly forget to extend grace to myself, especially in my role as a Mom.  I set unrealistic expectations that I would never expect another Mom to achieve.  I reach out and encourage Mom friends, but don't offer the same encouraging words to myself.  I quickly forget and dismsiss all the things I am doing, all the ways I am enough, all the memories I did make with my kids.

I forget that we sat together and read together.  Separately and quietly, but together.

I forget that we laughed until it hurt at the phrase "fascinating raisins" while playing Apples to Apples.

I forget that my kids saw me cry, so they know it's ok for them to do the same.

I forget that my children have grown leaps and bounds in independence and life skills in the past few weeks.

I forget that we have walked miles and miles together.

I forget that my kids have spent countless hours playing together and making up silly games together.

I forget that we've enjoyed meals together.

I forget that on the other side of the screen, my kids have brightened the days of their cousins, grandparents and friends.  And had their days brightened, too.

I forget that my kids have gotten some of their best sleep in a long time.

I forget that we have shared seemingly endless snuggles on the couch.

I forget that I'm not just a Mom, but I'm also a human. I'm more than all the things I didn't do or didn't try or didn't perfect that day.  I'm more than a social media feed.  I'm allowed to be human and to extend myself grace.

Just so I don't forget, and you don't either, I have a challenge for you.  (But you know what? It's ok if you don't do it.  No Mom Guilt here...) It's got two parts.

One: Make your list.  Right now.  Don't wait.  Say it out loud or write in on a note in your phone or jot it on the back of a piece of scrap prepare, but make your list.  Remind yourself of all the ways you were enough as a Mom for your kids today or this week or this month.  What have you forgotten? Don't leave anything out.  Nothing is too small to remind yourself about.  Because you know what?  It's quite possible the thing on that list that seems the smallest to you is the one that is the biggest to your kid.

Two: Reach out to another Mom. Text. Call. Email. Drop a note in the mail. FaceTime. Zoom. (Strange times we are living in, right?)  Let her know that you see her and you believe in her and you acknowledge that she is working hard.  You don't even have to mention Mom Guilt or wonder if she's experienced it or if she's experiencing it right now or if she will experience it in the weeks ahead.  Because if she's a Mom, she has or she is or she will.

It's time to tell Mom Guilt that there is a shelter in place order right now, and Mom Guilt is not invited over.  Mom Guilt needs to back up and get 6 feet away from you and stay there.  And if Mom Guilt puts up a fight on that, extend yourself some grace, remind yourself of all that you are, and remember You're a Good Mom.

That Sunday Night Feeling

Sunday nights have a very distinct feeling during the school year.

As an elementary teacher, a mom of two very active school-aged kids, and a wife of a husband who travels for his job, Sundays nights are my least favorite night of the week.  It is planning and prepping and cleaning and cooking and scheduling.  

It is looking at the week ahead, and figuring out who is taking which kid where, and what we are doing when their activities overlap.  It is emailing coaches and leaders and letting them know if a kid needs to leave early or will be coming late because of another activity.  It's making sure the refrigerator is stocked and there is some kind of loose plan for feeding your family for the week.  It's making sure lesson plans are complete and materials are ready for teaching nearly 600 students at 2 schools in the week ahead.  It's doing enough laundry that there are clean clothes and uniforms for whatever the week demands.  It's trying to squeeze out the last few minutes of the weekend and family time before diving back into the chaos.

My husband will tell you I try to cram a 32-hour to do list into one night.  I'm not gonna lie.  He's right.

(Yes, Trevor.  I put that in print and on the internet. You. Are. Right.)

If I'm being honest, I generally dread Sunday nights.  Because of all the reasons listed above, by Sunday afternoon, I can feel my mood shift.  I feel myself getting more uptight and less patient.  I feel myself feeling more stressed and less relaxed.  The only way I can describe it is "that Sunday night feeling."  Maybe you know this feeling, too.

Tonight's Sunday night feeling is something entirely different though.

For the first time in I can't remember when, it's Sunday night and there is no "half done" to do list still in my head as I tuck my kids in and tell them good night.  

My schedule is clear, with no practices, concerts, events or meetings to transport anyone to. There are no logistics to coordinate.  There is no need to sit down across the table from my husband and walk through each day in the week ahead to decide who was getting which kid where. I have actually taken down our family calendar.  Each box on the calendar is filled with multiple commitments, but in our current reality, those hand-written times and activities have all been cancelled.  The calendar that was once crucial to our daily functioning now means absolutely nothing.  It is folded and put away in a cupboard for now.

My laundry is done.  Like done done.  I literally do not ever remember a time this has happened.  The only dirty clothes in our house right now are the ones we are wearing.  

Let me share a quick story just to reference how bizarre this is for me.  A few weeks ago, as we were coming home from my daughter's indoor softball tournament at 9:00pm on a Sunday night, the thought actually crossed my mind about stopping to purchase underwear for my children on the drive home because I wasn't sure if they had any clean underwear at home. That's how Sunday nights usually feel in our house, especially after a weekend jammed with activities.  But it's Sunday night.  And my laundry is done.

My bathrooms are clean.

My floors are vacuumed.

My dishwasher is empty.

My meal list is made for the week.

Again, just to be clear, this is not the norm.  These are things I dream of having done on a Sunday night, to feel prepared to dive into the week that lies ahead, but don't ever actually happen, and definitely don't ever happen all at the same time.

The only thing that feels familiar about today is that I still have "that Sunday night feeling."  But this Sunday night feeling is totally different.

On this Sunday night, that Sunday night feeling is one of sadness.  

I feel sad that once again, I will not get to see my students' sweet faces this week.  I will not get to share books and stories that have touched my heart with them.  I will not get to see the joy and excitement that crosses their faces when they choose books, and get to check them out from the library to read in the days ahead.  

I feel sad that my own kids are missing their friends and teachers.  They will not get to see them tomorrow and share what they did this weekend.  They will not continue working on group projects or go on field trips to the observatory or have their school carnival.  

I feel sad that my daughter's basketball season was left undone.  I feel sad that my son's one year experience at Zoo School is being drastically changed.  I feel sad that I can't hug my friends or run a quick errand.  I feel sad that our Spring Break trip to visit dear friends in St. Louis will no longer be happening.  I feel sad that the half marathon I've been training for since January will now be a virtual run, with no real finish line to cross.

Please don't get me wrong.  I think we should all be staying home and staying safe.  I agree with the tough decisions being made right now, and support the cancellation of every single activity and the guidelines being put in place.  The sadness I'm feeling is nothing compared to the sadness families are facing when they can't visit sick family members in the hospital or the sadness medical professionals are feeling as they face impossible decisions or the sadness essential workers are experiencing as they continue going to work and facing risks for the common good.  And this adds another layer to this feeling of sadness, which feels a lot like guilt.  It has felt a lot like trying to ignore the sad or just "get over" the sad or stuff the sad away somewhere.

But I'm still sad.  And I'm coming to the realization that it's ok to be sad.  

I'm also coming to the realization that I can feel sad and honor those feelings, but I don't have to stay there.  I can remind myself of all the happy things.  Of this extra time with my family.  Of the slower pace of life that I can cherish and hold to in these days.  Of the laughs and giggles we've shared together as a family.  Of the messages I've gotten from students and colleagues.  Of the fewer loads of laundry I've had to do since we all keep wearing our pajamas for days on end.  Of having our health.  Of having a roof over our heads.  Of my friends who make me laugh through text messages and Zoom calls.  

I will also try to remember this new Sunday night feeling when my calendar goes back up and we are back to our routine, whenever that may be.  I hope it will help me keep perspective that the laundry being done isn't the end and be all.  Maybe this new Sunday night feeling will help combat the old Sunday night feeling in the future.

These days have been a roller coaster, filled with lots of ups and downs.  I imagine that will continue in the days, weeks and months ahead.  I'm going to lean into the sad times, as I'm sure they are not over.  I will let myself feel those sad feelings and let go of the guilt tied to them.  But I will also keep reminding myself of the happy so I can also push out of those sad times, too.

Sad, happy or anything in between, You're a Good Mom.

An Open Letter: To All the Parents Who Now Find Themselves "Doing School" With Their Kids,

To all the parents who now find themselves “doing school” with their kids,

I have spent more hours than I can even begin to count writing lesson plans over my 18-year teaching career.  

But I have a confession to make. A secret to reveal.  One that all teachers know.  

Most of my day-to-day lesson plans don’t actually go as planned. 

There are almost always tweaks along the way -- things that totally failed and I try differently the next time or happy surprises that come along and completely change what I had written down in my lesson plan book for the better.

If I’m being honest, most of my very best lessons have actually been the ones where I have “punted,” made on the fly decisions and followed where the kids were leading.  This is because what I write down on paper is what I plan in my head, but it is missing one key element: the kids.  The real live actual human kids who I have the privilege of teaching each and every day.

I say this because you may have the very best plan on paper for what "school" is going to look like at home in the weeks ahead, but when you put your actual real live kids into the mix, that may change quite a bit.  

And that is ok.

I’ve been a teacher for 18 years and I’m trying to figure out how to "do school" at home with my own 4th and 6th grader now. (And I taught 4th grade for 10 of those years...)  I have the best intentions and plans in my head and even down on paper in some cases, and I'm still trying to wrap my mind around this.

This is hard for everyone. This is new for everyone.

Everyone is trying their very best.  That is going to look different for every single person, every single day.  There are so many color coded charts and systems and structures going around right now.  If that works for you and your kids, lean into that.  Use it.  Use it to help guide you through this unknown time.

But if that doesn't work for you and your kids, please know that is ok.  

If you made one of those beautiful color coded charts, and then tried to put it in to practice, and found out your kids aren't so "color-coded" right now and don't really care much what your chart or schedule says, please know that is ok, too.

Remember that whole "actual real live kids" thing?

Learning happens in so many different ways. Some traditional. Some non-traditional.  Some things with learn with our heads. Some things we learn with our hearts.  Some things happen step by step, just as we think they will.  Some things take major twists and turns along the way.

That's all ok, too.

Keep talking with your kids. Keep loving on them. Keep listening to them.  

This is new and unknown and unsettling for them, too.  They miss their friends.  They miss their teachers.  They miss their activities that keep getting cancelled farther and farther into the future.  They don't know when all this will end, and the people they usually go to with questions don't have solid answers for them.

They have a lot of big feelings, and those probably won't come out nice and neat.  It may come out in tears over something that doesn't seem "tear-worthy."  It may come out as complete and total silly goofiness and laughter over something not all that funny.  It may come out as driving their sibling (or you...) absolutely crazy just because it is something they feel like they can control in that moment.

That's the part to listen to.  The words they aren't saying.  But what their actions are saying. I'm anxious.  I'm bored.  I'm scared.  I'm annoyed.  I'm disappointed.  I'm frustrated.  I'm worried.  They may not be able to tell you this or want to tell you this or know how to verbalize this, but it's there.  Those feelings are there.  We just have to know how to listen.

Give them grace. Give yourself grace.

Trust yourself.  You know your kids.  You know yourself.  You know your family dynamic.  You know when to push and when to back off.  You know when it would be best for everyone to grab a book and read, and when it would best for everyone to pile on the couch and watch Frozen 2 for the thirteenth time.  You know when it's a good time to sit down and try some of those math problems and when it's a good time to sit around in your pajamas and finish another box of Girl Scout cookies together.

They will be ok if they don't follow a color coded learning schedule.  They will still be learning on their own schedule and in their own way.  

They will also be ok if they do follow a color coded learning schedule if that is what feels safe and familiar for them right now.  They may be craving routine and predictability and that may be what provides it.

Either way, let's support each other through this.  Be kind to each other.  And be kind to yourself.  Don't use social media as a some kind of imaginary, unachievable measuring stick.  Don't think everyone else has it all together because of a few pictures or moments or ideas captured on Instagram or Facebook.  I'm hear to tell you they don't.  I don't.  Don't be too hard on yourself when the day has not gone how you thought it would or how you planned it would.  

Remember, some of the very best lessons are the ones that don't go as originally planned.

And honestly? The best part of all those lesson plans are always the real, live, actual kids, anyway.

You Are a Good Mom.  You are not alone. We will get through this together.

(I mean 6 feet apart from everyone else, but you know what I mean... 😉)

Much love,
A Teacher Mom