My goodness, this was a good weekend. I turned twenty-five and I spent the day just being. I cleaned my room. You'd be impressed. I haven't seen this much floor since before I moved in. I went shopping and spent time with people without worrying about where I had to be and when. And I didn't even plan one lesson. It was just... relaxing. Nice. Friday night? I recorded a Disney Channel movie based on a teen book by the same name (the book was totally better) in order to play Settlers. Then I slept in on Saturday and watched the movie in my pajamas. Being an adult isn't so bad.
But I miss my kids. Jeez. Did you see what I wrote? My kids. I mean, my students. But I like those little people. Even when they break my heart and a little bit, my spirit, I really appreciate them. We read The Kissing Hand again recently. It was a book we'd read on the first day of school but reread it for some comprehension objective I can't remember but could pull out a lesson plan to tell you. Regardless, we've been discussing what all the pictures are really showing. On the last page, Chester (or his mom) is giving the sign language symbol for "I love you." I explained to them what it meant. Now, about a third of the time I hear "teeeeesheeerrr, loooook," I see them showing me their loving gesture. The other two-thirds? A semblance of completion in a task or someone doing something wrong. Although, arguably, they're supposed to raise their hands and wait for me to call on them, which would mean that two-thirds of the time, they're breaking a rule. But that other third? It totally makes up for being called an article of clothing.
These little beings? They just wanted to be loved. Their eyes just get big with shock and sheer jubilation when I sign back to them that yes, I am so fond of them, I love them. Sometimes, I say it too. Even when I'm tired and cursing myself for not having prepared back-up plans for a substitute in order to call in sick, it brings light to my day. They know I get frustrated. I think they know I know they get frustrated. Well, most of them. But those moments when they sign to me, they're telling me it's okay. They're telling me to keep going. And in my gesture of love to them and of course, my words, the recognize that they are allowed to make mistakes. In fact, as long as it doesn't hurt anyone, I encourage it. It's how we learn. But I know for a fact, it is not a mistake loving these growing people.
I've heard people say things about how it's different when they're your kids. The love you have for people. The little things don't bug you as much. These small creatures have been nowhere in me but my heart. Their gestations periods were in women with their same last names. They go home to tell someone all about their days. But I am genuinely happy every day I get to spend with them. It makes me sad that, already, three of my students have been abruptly pulled from the school for reasons I'm not aware. I am honest every time I raise two fingers and a thumb. These people whose first language isn't English can certainly understand it.
So I miss my kids. Those people I spend most of my days with. It's perfectly rational to miss them, I think. And worry for them. And wish I was playing with them instead of teaching them grammar. Don't get me wrong--I wish I had weekends this long a little more often. But I do love those kids.
But I also understand, I feel maybe one one-hundredth of what my mother continues to feel for me. They are only mine through May so I'd better make the most of our time together. Even when I'd rather be sleeping.
-Theresa
No comments:
Post a Comment