My Summer Baby

While on a run with my friend Angie today (actually, we were in the car on our way to the run destination), I told her about how I consider summer vacations a form of post-child-bearing memory erasing. She had me elaborate on this idea and then told me to post it... so I'm going to do that now. Since I'm an English teacher I get the equivalent of a contact high when it comes to extended metaphors. I'm sure half the time my students leave class wondering why the hell I just talked for half and hour about how pulling quotes from a text is like running fartleks.

So here is my extended metaphor about being a high school English teacher in the Grossmont Union High School District. (I make that distinction because I have to believe that there are school districts out there that don't overcrowd classrooms and don't lie and cheat and steal from its employees... even if it's not true...I believe it exists somewhere. "And sometimes I believe as many as six impossible things before breakfast"--the Queen, from Alice in Wonderland)

My Summer Baby

I've heard mothers talk about how the pain and torture of labor is blocked from their minds as soon as they see their baby. The joy and love of that precious, squeaky little babe somehow makes the 12(+) hours of sweating, panting, screaming, pushing, swearing, ripping, pooing, and God-knows-what-else-they-don't-have-the-courage-to-talk-about, worth it...and not so bad. Granted, this memory-loss doesn't happen right away (for most). Those I've talked to say that after a few months when the stitches are out and the soreness is gone (just about the time her body is ready for another go-round) the mother believes having another baby is a good idea. And so she does...and the same torture is waiting for her in the delivery room. just. like. last time.

Teaching is similar to this process--especially for those of us who are not on the year-round system. The beginning of the school year is always a little rocky. We wake up in the morning with butterflies in our stomaches wondering what the year will bring. We tend to "glow" just a little with hope for the year of possibilities. Then, we find out what we're "having" and after about 3 or 4 weeks the excitement and wonder is over and the "morning sickness" kicks in.

After about two months, we reach a calm spell. Things are cookin' along... we've gotten used to one another, as mother and baby do, and we have our routines down. About halfway through the school year, things begin to get slightly uncomfortable... nothing too bad, just...not that fun anymore. We're changing every day at an alarming rate: stretched and pulled in directions we didn't foresee and didn't desire. Small things that at one time could be shrugged off now cause annoyance or occasional anger. But, with a proper exercise or meditation regimen the annoyance of overbearing in-laws (parent emails) or unresponsive husbands (lazy students) can be controlled.

Toward the end of our "pregnancy" the pain begins. Everything is too cramped--it feels like we're being crushed. It takes all our strength to push through to the end. Our nerves are shot to hell, our hands are cramping from all the papers, our brains are fried from trying to think of new ways to keep the end-of-year chaos controlled, and those slight annoyances now turn us into raging lunatics...why bother yelling? Just go straight to crying. But we push and breathe, push and breathe. (Some get the margarita epidurals flowing earlier and earlier in the day...)

And then, oooooooh sweet "and then", just as quickly as the pains came, they are gone. Summer has been born. Sweet, cooing, precious Summer is yours for the cuddling. We rock our baby Summers and love them and do anything for them and they are ours and we are theirs and the previous 9 months don't seem so bad anymore. In fact, about 60 days later, we almost miss our pregnancy and want to do it again... and so, toward the end of August, forgetting the labor that awaits, we "get busy."

The end.

I hope you have enjoyed this extended metaphor brought to you by one "glowing" teacher.