The fact that it's a 4-day week and the start of the last 6 weeks of school AND a rainy, indoor-recess for 2 of the 4 days AND a waning full moon...I really shouldn't be surprised by the abysmal behavior of my homeroom students (well, all of them, actually) But truth be told, I was surprised. This was one of those weeks where I seriously considered my current career choice, generally speaking. But today? Today was one of "those" days. The "Alexander and the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day" children's book kind of day.
My homeroom is sprinkled with "those" kids...the hard-to-love kids...the extra-grace-required, unclaimed freight kids. I have to confess, this week I wasn't thinking about how, for those babies, school is actually the best part of their day because life at home sucks. I wasn't looking at their behavior as the defense mechanism they use to cover up their learning deficits. I was looking at it like their personal plan for my defeat and utter failure. Typically, the behaviors ramp up before a holiday because these kids don't have the words to express their fear or frustration. I'm not going to hear, "Mrs. Pope, I'm unable to acquiesce to your request to not (insert inappropriate behavior choice here) because I'm freaking out over (fill in the blank.) Rather, the message is conveyed through whining, crying, yelling, avoiding work, screeching, pushing, shoving, slapping, tackling, cussing, mean-mugging, hiding, blaming everyone else. THAT was how my day ended today. With a list of the usual suspects who lost their ever-loving minds and acted out. For the bazillionty-jillionth time.
Even though I know better than to take the behavior personally, I did. All math class does, is provide a means through which "people-ing skills" are learned. This isn't the last time they're going to hear about decimals, fractions, the 4 operations, etc. This IS when a foundation for functioning semi-normally in society is laid. Most days, I have the grace and aplomb to handle the behaviors. Today was not that day. Welcome to the human race, Mrs. Pope. At least you don't breathe fire!
Here's where God's sense of humor kicks in. The very children whom I'd like nothing better than to strangle with my bare hands, hugged me goodbye. Hugged me goodbye and wished me a happy Easter.
Hugged me...the woman who is figuratively plotting their death...or at least a few days without recess. Talk about humbled.
Fast forward past after school duty. I bolted at 3:15. Made it to my truck before the first tears fell. I proceed to have a conversation with God, one-sided, of course. "I. Can't. Do. This. I'm. Not. Strong. Enough." Cue the sobbing, the ugly crying and the gnashing of teeth. All the way home. After all this, I hear God's still, small voice, "Are you finished?" (He's very patient with my tantrums; this is not his first rodeo.) Like only God can, He sends a whisper through my mind and my heart. A soft, gentle prompting: look at your pictures. The teacher album on my phone. "This," He says, "this is why you do what you do. This is what I enabled you to do." The hug from M.A. and T.R. The picture from A.B. The notes...the Sonic drink from a mom today...All humbling reminders...I. Can. Finish. I. Am. Strong. Enough.
