Tuesday Slice: Rear-view trauma

"I'm having a hard time leaving my baby at daycare," she confided to those of us sitting at a table as the staff meeting wrapped up.

"Oh, the experiences we go through with that first child," another remarked.  "It gets easier with the second."

"I never really felt that," I said, absently.  "Maybe because we didn't do full-time daycare..." My thoughts wandered off, an odd feeling in my chest.  Why didn't I feel too bad the day we dropped our firstborn off at Mother's Day Out?  Was I out of touch, lacking connection with my daughter?

Later that night, the answer hit me with a punch to my gut, radiating to my heart.

I didn't have separation anxiety dropping my daughter off at preschool because a) she didn't have any problem with it, and b)  I was forced to allow others to take care of her from the moment she was born.

When you're a preemie parent, you are thrust into a situation where other people have control of your child's care.  There was no choice in the matter; my twenty-six weeker would die without medical intervention.  And so you take what they can give you--the momentary touch in the transport isolette, the polaroid photo before the ambulance leaves--as a tenuous connection while recovering from the physically exhausting act of childbirth.

I called my husband from my hospital bed at two o'clock the next morning, sobbing because I knew the woman in the room next to mine would get to take her crying baby home, and I wouldn't.  I was on the phone to my doctor's office when it opened at eight, arranging my release so I could go home, clean up, and see my baby.

And for the next sixty-five days, I would leave her again, and again, and again.  I do know something about separation anxiety, after all. 

 

Tuesday Slice: Sub plans, the pain and the pride

 

One of the many quirks that sets education apart from other careers is the requirement for substitute plans when one is going to be away from the classroom.

Do doctors write sub plans?  Lawyers?  Generals?  I'm thinking...nope.  Someone else just comes in, assesses the situation, and carries on.

I may be speaking only for myself (though I doubt it)...but sub plans are a pain.  Perhaps it is the kindness in my heart that wants to give a sub every detail they need to be able to run the day.  Or maybe it's an inflated sense of ego--only I know how to run this library, so I'll tell you exactly what to do in my absence.  Maybe it's a little of both.

Whatever the reason, it is a tedious task which usually takes me twice as long to type up as it actually does to teach the stuff I've typed up...but this leads me to the pride part.  When I go back and read the plans I've left for a sub, with all the routines and details and nuances laid out in black and white, it becomes an affirmation of what I do and how much I work.  To run a successful classroom or library, routines must be in place to help the day run smoothly and create a sense of safety for students, so they can be sure of what to expect when they walk into the learning space--which is half the battle of learning, in my humble opinion.  Because they become routine for us, it is easy to forget just how much we do every day--until we have to write it down for someone else.

And let's face it--leaving good, detailed sub plans brings an educator peace of mind when missing days from school.  Especially when taking earned personal days to relax and work on one's mental and physical health...which is exactly what I'll be doing this week, knowing I'm leaving my library program in capable hands.

Photo from Pixabay, credited to cercyra

Spiritual Journey Thursday: The heart of the matter

 

This month's Spiritual Journey prompt is provided by Linda Mitchell, who posted her own thoughts here.

When Linda told us the crux of our prompt would be "heart", an earworm immediately wriggled into my thoughts.

These lines seem so apropo right now:

"These times are so uncertain

There's a yearning undefined

People filled with rage

We all need a little tenderness

How can love survive in such a graceless age?

Ah, the trust and self-assurance that lead to happiness

They're the very things we kill, I guess

Oh, pride and competition

Cannot fill these empty arms

And the work I put between us, you know it doesn't keep me warm

I've been tryin' to get down

To the heart of the matter

But my will gets weak

And my thoughts seem to scatter

But I think it's about forgiveness

Forgiveness

Even if, even if you don't love me anymore"

Songwriters: Don Henley / John David Souther / Mike Campbell

The Heart of the Matter lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Warner Chappell Music, Inc

(I took liberties with a switch in the stanzas)

The heart of the matter..."heart books"--what I tell students who are about to check out a book that will pull at their emotions, as in "This book is going to be a heart book, with some strong feelings."

The heart of the matter...Valentine hearts, decorating the library, going out into the mail soon, posted on doors and social media.

The heart of the matter...forgiveness and grace in this pandemic. A stern glance of disagreement, instead of a shout. A tongue held, instead of rebuke. A comment erased, before hitting "post".

These days, my heart is weary, seeking solace in quiet predawn hours, at midday during unmasked lunches and virtual read-alouds in my office, afternoons birdwatching through my kitchen window.  There is the joy of interacting with curious children and the teachers who care for them.  There is the peace of a good night's rest, after listing thoughts of gratitude before sleeping.

Moments of solace, joy, and peace coexisting with constant heaviness.  That is where my heart is at on this spiritual journey.

Tuesday Slice: Writer's woes

 

I am writing my Slices on Monday nights these days, to free up a bit of time on Tuesday mornings for reading and exercise.  If you can call it reading and exercise; just a few pages read each day from self-improvement material, and moving my body in some fashion for fifteen minutes, trying not to sweat too much in my pajamas.

I have been sitting at my computer for twenty-five minutes, trying on three different ideas and scrapping them all.  Not enough details in a memory for one; another isn't really my story to tell; and yet another is wearisome to write--literally wearisome, as I pondered a treatise on just how tired I am these days.

I am missing creative time.  I've had crocheting on my to-do list for months, and yet haven't managed to hook a row since before the holidays.  Paint and canvases sit untouched; materials are gathered for a Mod Podge project, gathering dust.  I haven't even been singing much, as allergies, library lessons, and read-alouds have left my throat subject to a tickle, leading to a cough.  (Yes, I've been tested for you-know-what.)  I did complete a curly-headed woman for a bulletin board, but that was more mindless twirling of construction paper around a pencil than outright creativity.

Since exhaustion seems to be the cause of this malaise, maybe a good solid weekend in bed might help...if I can do so without feeling guilty about the projects I'm not getting done...