To say that things are hectic now is a bit of an understatement. This is a true fact for everyone I know - especially those who work in or go to school. Yesterday, I covered someone else's math class - which was actually fun - and then had an unexpected lunch with two 7th graders - which was restorative in its own way. To spend the entire day in the company of children meant I came home from school a little more tired than usual - which is again saying something.
In spite of my intention to use my free time to care for those who care for me, the pace of work has made it hard to me to see people who matter. Yes, I see can still see and connect regularly with my immediate family - although I am pretty sure I feel asleep during a phone call with my younger son last night. He was too polite to complain.
People who are dear to me who don't live with me, however, are getting the short shrift. Like our former custodial assistant with the broken ankle - I've been dying to see her. And a student from my first class ever who has a small business - I owe her a visit and a purchase. And the mom of a dear student who we lost last year - I miss her grace and humor. You get it. I know you feel it, too.
Kids at school are feeling the effects of this pace as well. They have a weariness about them. It's not just that they are worn from covid school. I think they are feeling the effects of our overwhelmedness. I feel grouchier than I should and I know I sing fewer songs and make fewer jokes. Not only does this make me sadder, it makes my classes more glum. When I can be playful, kids know they can, too.
At the end of yesterday, I had my most challenging class. Individually, they are each great, but something about the combination of personalities makes them hard. Add having them at the end of a long week and the prospect of a successful period feels bleak.
That said, we started our work and things were humming along. Some kids were doing quiz retakes, some were working on the project and others were practicing percents individually. I was sitting with a kid, J, who is a great worker when there is an adult with him. Even putting two super sharp kids at his table hasn't helped him to be less needy, but I have hope. I was helping him complete a ratio table comparing his steps to the number of blocks he walked and it was slow going. He shared with the whole table that he has always had a hard time just showing up at school. When he was in pre-K he would wet his pants on purpose just be be able to go home.
Something about the way J shared this made the whole table laugh out-loud - J included. His confession was self-deprecating and hilarious (my favorite kind) and allowed him to explain why the ratio table was so damn hard. It also gave his tablemates a sense of who he is. They know now how to support him and that he can be relied upon for quality laughs. We all bonded over the moment and one of the kids at the table said, "Ms I, I have never heard you laugh so hard."
For me, I have always like J's flavor of goofiness, even though his unproductivity drives me mad. But I learned a lesson yesterday. Laughter IS breathing room. I can't fix the problem of everyone being over-worked. I can't make more time in the week to visit with people I love. I can't wet my pants to be able to go home early, either.
But what I can do is create breathing room for myself and for those around me. We need room to laugh - now more than ever. We need room to work at our own pace - hence the different assignments for different kids. We need room to get to know and appreciate those around us. We need to develop compassion for others - even in the sillier moments - and to find ways to express it.
It's only November, which means this is an uphill climb if ever there was one. And yet, for our own sanity and for the people in our care, we must find a way.
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