When I was pregnant with Avery one
of my professors looked me in the eye and said, “You will never teach the same
way again. Every child in your room will
become someone else’s child to you.”
Since then I have been struck with how teaching shaped my parenting and
how parenting shaped my teaching. I’ve
spent too much time trying to decide if I was a better parent or teacher because
of my dual roles. Lately I’ve been
realizing that like all things in life, I am not better or worse because of the
competing forces that shape me, I just am.
The intricate connectedness of all of our experiences can’t be
denied. However, I do think it
worthwhile to share how I am different at home and in the classroom because of
my time in each place, and you can decide who suffers and benefits J. Off the top of my head here are some of the
ways teaching has made me the mom I am:
Fearing the Praise
Sandwich
I can always tell when a child of mine is about to get a
teacher critique. It always comes with
high praise - out of the ordinary tail feather fluffing. I read it and feel the smile spread across my
face only to have it knocked off by the line that inevitably follows. I find myself saying. “I know this game… just
tell me what my kid did wrong. I promise
they’ll get in trouble, and I know you still love them even though they are in
trouble.” Every time I experience the
rise and fall I think, “I should have seen that coming. I got the praise sandwich lesson too during
my class on communicating with parents.”
This “knows too much about schooling” phenomenon sneaks into other
aspects as well. Sometimes I pick the
kids up from school and they casually mention something like, “We took the STAR
test today” and instead of, “that’s nice
honey,” I say, “oh – what’s your grade
level equivalent and percentile rank?”
When they say they have no idea I start wondering what password I have
to use to access district wide STAR scores and who might do that for me. When they tell me so-and-so gets smiley faces
at the end of the day I wonder how long the implementation of his behavior plan
has been in effect and if it came after a functional behavior analysis. No wonder teachers sometimes dread having
teacher’s kids in class J
Parent Empathy
When I took Avery to her first daycare center (vs. in home)
I had to fill out a lengthy health inventory and have it notarized. The only thing really out of the ordinary was
that she was allergic to sunscreen (miraculously she has since mostly outgrown this). Now, when I say allergic to sunscreen I am
not talking about a minor skin irritation due to a slight sensitivity to
lotion. I am talking a full blown head
to toe hives outbreak that emerged if she came into contact with the chemical
in sunscreens as diagnosed by our best local dermatologist after a summer of
trying every sunscreen base on the market.
I made this allergy VERY clear on the piece of paper that had to be
NOTARIZED, brought her personal Zinc Oxide to school, and had a conversation
with her teachers about using it. When I
came home from work at 6:00 PM just two days into her preschool tenure and saw little
red welts all over my precious first born’s skin I could not be held
responsible for the words that came out of my mouth. To this day I thank my lucky stars that the
center was closed before Mama Bear saw what they had done to my little
girl. Had I been able to call that
evening the conversation would have been very different than it was after a night
spent collecting my thoughts so I could be firm but kind as I explained that
this could NEVER happen again. Now when
parents barge into the office looking for blood I try to remember those little
welts and the week it took them to go away that time.
On a related note, break room food prepared by PTA volunteers
has never tasted so good. I know the
energy that goes into preparing a snack for teachers. I know that the ingredients are often bought
on the way to a softball game and prepped late at night after little ones are
all tucked into bed. I also know that
these same crazy nights are sometimes the reason permission slips get lost or
homework gets turned in late. I called a
dad once and almost crumpled when he said, “I know I should be more on top of
things, but I have three kids in school.”
It was a glimpse into my future reality.
I already suck at just two Friday folders… I also know what it does to an evening when
you have to go back to school for an event.
I try not to judge families who can’t make it happen.
Dreaded Playdates
It occurred to me this year that my daughters rarely get
invited to playdates. This concerned me
for a while until I realized how rarely we facilitate playdates. I think that with a two teacher home by the
time a weekend rolls around the last thing we want to do is have to potentially
manage the behavior of anyone else’s child.
When we do have kids over I fear we are the mean parents because we
cannot separate expected school behavior from home behavior. (Sephus and I already find ourselves having
to stop ourselves from disciplining children at Bonkers, around the pool on
vacation or playing in the streets.) It
just feels like our job to correct any negative behaviors that might eventually
lead to trouble in school. We probably
need to do a better job of letting kids be kids on the weekend. After all, we are very different at home than
we are at our “9-5s.” We find ourselves
surrounding ourselves with the children of fellow teachers who are
willing to “process” through any situations that arise during play after
delivering the appropriate consequence.
My goal is to get better at this so send some friends our way! (This seems like the appropriate time to
mention how much it must suck being the kid of a teacher… “I can see you are
having a hard time regulating your emotions right now… why don’t you sit in that chair until you are
ready to speak to me in a voice that sounds like mine.”)
Desire for Mediation
As a middle school teacher I spend roughly 99.5% of some
days dealing with children who are mad at each other. I always get the whole of the story from
child A and then another version from child B.
We then ask them to consider how the other person might frame the story
eventually working towards sitting down at a table together to tell those
versions face to face with the eventual goal of getting at something resembling
the truth and an apology from both sides.
Sometimes friendships can be mended and sometimes we talk about how we
have to be kind to everyone though we don’t have to be friends with
everyone. When one of my girls comes
home upset with a friend I find myself desperate to sit down with the other child.
“What role did you play in this situation?
What role did my child play? How
can we make sure this doesn’t happen again?”
It drives me CRAZY not getting the whole story after hearing stories all
day.
We Don’t Do School at
Home (But We Do…)
I always joke that we don’t do school at home. My positive reason is that I trust the school
system to do it’s job. I know that the
K-1 teachers are experts at teaching kids to read. They have training and curriculum meant to do
just that. Why would I take time out of
my day to put flashcards in front of my young reader’s face when there is an
entire building dedicated to teaching letters and sounds to her? We will never
drill math at home or fill out summer workbooks. School has a purpose and I expect it will
fulfill that purpose. This is the reason
that sounds good, the real reason is probably closer to the fact that “teaching”
is the last thing I want to do after 3PM.
That being said, we can’t help but be teachers. If our child notices that the leaves are turning
green they better be ready for a lengthy description of the process of
photosynthesis. If they ask how the
president was elected they better be ready to hear about the Electoral College. I don’t care if they are only four years old…
Again, poor teacher’s kids…
My Loss of Patience/Presence
of Love
Sometimes after a day of other people’s kids not listening
to a word I say, the last thing I can handle is my own child not following a
simple direction. Sometimes I unload a
day’s worth of frustration on one kid who won’t pick up her shoes after
dinner. I know it’s not fair, but it’s our
reality. After listening to a 7th
grade stumble over word after word in a reading passage it’s hard to stay
enthusiastic about a kindergarten reader who doesn’t want any help pronouncing
words in Pinkalicious. When I feel
guilty about the energy other people’s kids zap from my own kids, I try to
remember that my career is the only reason I know to say, “well what word would
make sense there… or do you know any words that start with the Wh sound that
would fit in this sentence… does the
picture help you make a guess?” My
training to help other people’s kids inevitably helps my own kids as well.
At the core of all my interactions, with my school kids or
my biological kids is a deep and desperate longing for them to be the best
people they can possibly be. I have been
moved to tears in these attempts weekly since I had my own children. My capacity for empathy towards little humans
has quadrupled. The importance of their
success has grown immeasurably. After
all, my student’s success shapes my child’s future.
This post has been rolling around in my head for years. There is so much more to say on the topic and
so much more to learn on it. But for the
sake of maintaining at least a few readers, I’ll quit for now. I would love to hear how your job has made
you the parent you are.
Happy Teacher’s
Appreciation Week and Happy Mother’s Day
