Sticky Hands, Dirty Knees, Full Hearts

Our school uniforms are white..or at least they used to be. I have approximately 7 uniform shirts and not a single one is completely white anymore. Though, looking at my shirts hanging in my closet, I think they give a better representation of my life as a first grade teacher better than any diary.

They range from paint stains to playdough stains, to dry erase markers that erroneously marked my shirt rather than the board. I have pen ink stains.  I have dirt marks from students giving me hugs during recess or  just using my shirt as a napkin. I have blood stains from carrying students to the nurse and tear stains that have long since dried, but still leave a salty residue.  There is also the sweat stains in each one of my shirts, from chasing students around at recess, from exercises every morning to count to 100 days of school and challenging any student who dares to a tricycle race. Yes, this is the life of a teacher. 

I had a parent once tell me that being a teacher was super easy. All you had to do was print a worksheet off a computer and voila you are a teacher. I felt like laughing in response. Yes, it is easy to find materials on the internet to use and most people could do that, but that is such a small part of our role. We are not only instructors, but planners, advocates, nurses, lawyers, polices and surrogate parents. During the 8 hours the students are in the classroom, they are OURS. 

Today/tonight we had our annual Christmas concert. After weeks and weeks of practice our students were finally ready. Sitting in the midst of my students, I felt pride for all they had accomplished. Concert days are rough because our students have to sit in a chair for hours on end without getting up and roaming and it is very difficult for their little bodies to handle. Sitting with them though in this non academic time I got to appreciate how much impact we have as teachers and it was humbling. 

I had the opportunity to sit with one of my more active boys this evening, mainly to make sure he stayed in his seat. At the beginning of the night, I was sort of dreading this assignment knowing his antsiness would make my job near impossible, but it actually was a great growing experience for me and I realized how much I love the little dude.  It was about the time that he curled into my lap to hide his eyes in my hair from the strobe lights, that I became "fierce mama bear." Realizing he had little control over his behavior and that he was doing his best to sit still, but was having difficulty because of the techno and length of the evening, I decided to help him out the best I could. We told jokes, danced together in our seats and ate peppermint kisses out of my purse. 

I'm not an artist. I'm not a dancer. I cannot sing. I do not have any sort of fashion sense. I'm awful with directions. But I can teach and for me I've realized that's enough.