Yes, I do have a real job.

When I taught special education, no one questioned the legitimacy of my job.  "My goodness, you must have the patience of Job," they'd comment.  "You must work very hard!"  they'd exclaim.  Or, "Oh, I could never do your job!"  Now that I am teaching Pre-K, I get a lot of, "So it's basically babysitting, right?"  "What do you even do all day?"  Few things irk me more than these questions and the fact that early childhood teachers are not respected as just that: teachers.

Four-year-olds are wonderful.  They're intelligent, inquisitive, creative, funny, and helpful.  I can understand where a person's experience with one or two of them at a time would lead him to believe that being a Pre-K teacher is easy because honestly, four-year-olds are easy to love.  Try having 15 of them in a room together and then see what you think.  I'm not complaining; the fact of the matter is that I literally have seven kids pulling on my clothes at times and am trying to somehow help the other eight who are asking fifteen different questions and smashing Play-Dough into the carpet.  People who teach early childhood are generally overworked and underpaid; they do their job simply because they recognize the importance of molding young minds into something great.

We've had multiple unexpected snow days here in the past week.  Children everywhere have been cooped up inside, and parents everywhere have been pulling their hair out.  Even if teaching early childhood was just babysitting (which it isn't), I think that most people would recognize after these long days, that taking care of small children is actually a big task.

So, what do I do all day?

We make things.  We make messes.  (I clean them up mostly, but they help).  We make crafts.  We make memories.

I blow noses, blow whistles, tie shoes, tie sashes on dresses, put on Band-Aids, put up crayons, and put on a circus to keep their attention.

I teach.  I teach letters and numbers.  I teach them to write their names.  I teach them to read and to love it (yes, four-year-olds can learn to read).  I teach them about safety and health.  I teach them new vocabulary (sometimes to replace the colorful language they have learned at home).

But more importantly, I teach them manners.  (Jude, cups are for drinking, not for putting on our heads.)  I teach them patience.  (Wyatt, you can have that puzzle, but Owen gets to finish it first.)  I teach them kindness.  (Ellie, your friend's face says that she is sad because you pushed her down.)  Every moment can be a learning experience.  Thus, teaching early childhood is not simply a matter of common sense; it is an art.  Contrary to popular belief on the street, an early childhood degree isn't a load of bologna.  (And don't get me wrong- I've still got tons to learn myself.)  

I'm a parent as well as a teacher, and so for a large portion of my day, I turn my own child over to someone else.  I know that she is in good hands, but I still worry.  At the end of the day, I believe that I am ultimately responsible for her education, but I pray constantly that her early childhood teacher is caring for her as I would.  In these formative years, I want my daughter to learn basic skills and to have opportunities for positive social interactions, but I mostly want her to love and be loved.  I think every kid deserves that, and I know that not every kid gets it at home.  That's really why I teach.

I teach four-year-olds.  I don't always love it, and I'm not always good at it, but it's always important.  And it's always a real job.