My summer saw taught me the art of doing nothing. All this rain has helped too. I tend to be a busy girl. I overbook myself on a regular basis. I am usually tired and off to somewhere else. As a teacher you would think I have it easy during the summer, but they are usually really full. The only 2 exceptions were the summer I married and moved to DFW and the summer I had Owen ( and I worked a bit before he got here). I wouldn't call either of those relaxing. Usually, I have summer school ( teaching or taking or sometimes both), random jobs ( bath and body works and tutoring) and sign up for silly classes for owen. Last summer I taught bits of summer school, an SAT prep class, cleaned out the chemical stock room and labs at school, ran a fish camp and carted Owen off swim lessons, little gym, physical therapy and play dates. This summer the stars aligned and I didn’t have anything planned. I didn't sign O up for anything. I am changing jobs, so for once I don’t have to plan and get ready for my department. For most of June I didn’t even know what I would be teaching ( preAP bio – just 2 sections ) so I couldn’t even plan if I wanted to. My school is brand spankin new and not quite ready…….so I can’t go work in my classroom. My old childcare situation kind of fell through so, like last summer I can’t just drop off O any time I want for full or half days cheaply. No more helmets or physical therapy for Owen. I did sign up for 2 soccer teams ( instead of the usual one)……but all the rain means we have only played a few games all summer. So instead I read books, go to the zoo, swim when the sun permits, watch cartoons, go to the park, go to storytime, wander around bookstores, take naps, snack ( so much for going to the Y), watch movies, play with friends, drink coffee and color. Occasionally I cook and clean or look up lesson plans on the internet……..but I’m not making them priorities or anything.
I do the math on my hand. This is my 5th end of the year dance recital and you think by now I’d know to remember to pack hair spray and snacks. Someone hands my daughter a bag of chips and I want to hug her. I want to tell her that I am not a total failure, that we did not lose the wristbands, we wore the right color tights and that I do at least have a few bobby pins in my pocket. I can not handle the crazy that is backstage. It is a whirlwind of squealing girls in sequins, lycra and tulle. Moms wielding curling hours and more eye makeup than the entire MAC counter, I start to sweat in my ponytail. I quickly look away as an entire row of dancers peel off EVERYTHING for a quick costume change. I was not made for this. I unashamedly let an eight-year-old I have never met teach me how to get my daughter’s hair in place and I make the fastest exit I can. We sit in the balcony. Where we have been for hours. Dance recital day is all consuming. Rehersal, hair and finding the right ti...
Comments