Summer feels like waking up to a new day. Lots of them. Anything is possible! But, one has to complete a year of teaching to feel that utterly joyous exhileration of accomplishment and freedom.
I liken the school year to the nine months it takes to have a baby. Fall begins with limitless potential and antsy anticipation of great things to come, and I'm happy and priveleged to have signed the contract that allows me this opportunity to teach teenagers: the writing lesson I've been perfecting for 15 years, the sure-to-inspire reading technique I read about in The English Journal, and the organized computer files last year's student teacher created. (No more of my precious time spent looking for misplaced folders.)
Even the 1st quarter parent/teacher conferences cause my heart to beat faster, as parents and I conspire to turn their children on to the miraculous world of writing and reading. Pink or blue? Makes no difference.
In the second trimester, sticking to those organizational routines becomes a little troublesome, and I notice the piles have appeared on my window ledge and a stack of papers next to my computer. I'm feeling a little bogged down with the extra weight of morning meetings and Literary Magazine deadlines. At this stage, though I HATE cold weather, I consider myself fortunate to live in the magical Midwest where a zealous weather forecaster and reluctant school superindendent can work together and bless us with a SNOW DAY due to blizzard conditions. Instead of tackling tasks to get me ahead, though, I loll at home and catch up on rest, watching movies, and baking chocolate chip cookies. (One's appetite increases midway through a pregnancy.)
And, then there's the third trimester.
The downward---which feels like upward---slope to the end. After spring break, time slows to counting the weeks and days; and, if the weather turns nice early, like it did this year, look out, for summer fever sets in. Eighty degree temperatures tell the brain it's quitting time, and convincing it to continue to think and complete school tasks is a ponderous propostition.
And, after Memorial Day, each hour of labor is documented. It's time to get this baby outta here, and that's all there is to it!
Then, the overwhelming sensation of accomplishment and the jubilation of being done rejuvenates the exhausted body and mind. No papers to correct. No lessons to plan. No classroom to organize. Sheer and utter joy.
Until---the baby blues set in for a brief stay while adjusting to the weight loss. I miss the students, mourn their parting.
But, not for long.
My list of projects becomes feasible because I have TIME. Let's see---there's the picture for the living room I've been wanting to paint, the upstairs closet to clean, my mother's stuff in the garage to sort, the gardening, the endless list of books to read, and, of course, the writing to do and blog to write, just to name a few. Oh, and my teacher's license needs renewing by next summer, so I need to either take classes or finish my PDP, Professional Development Plan. Whew!
I'm sure I'll be glad when fall comes around again and I won't be faced with any more summer projects and vacations to plan, just another nine months of hatching.
Until then, a little deck sitting and tree watching seems in order.
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