I prayed all summer that my afternoon Pre-K class would fill up. At the end of last school year, I knew that I would either be teaching a morning and an afternoon Pre-K class, or I would teach a morning Pre-K class and then completely switch gears (and locations) to teach special education in the afternoons. To get two Pre-K classes, I was told that I would need 30 students enrolled before the class would split. I watched as my class started with 15 students, then went up to 18, then 23, then 25, then 26. With each addition to my class, I started to breathe a little easier, confident that I would get the necessary 30 students and officially be able to teach one thing all day. And then it didn't happen. On top of this, I found out that one of the full-time special education teachers at my school got relocated at the last minute, meaning that our school essentially lost a half-time position and my caseload would be larger than expected. I also discovered, as I was unscrewing bookshelves from the walls in my Pre-K classroom (which, I might add, was inaccessible to me all summer because it was being used for daycare), that the surface underneath was five different colors, so the entire classroom would need to be repainted...by me. At the end of the day on Thursday, August 14th, I left the school with half-painted walls, no furniture, no assistant for my classroom, no idea who my special education students would be, lots of tears, and crushing feelings of panic and defeat because school would be starting in less than a week and I had hardly touched either of my two classrooms.
Obviously, school did start, seemingly without me. Contrary to my normal mode of operation, I didn't feel completely prepared or in control of my own work. Also contrary to my normal mode of operation, I somehow managed to shut off my mind and go to sleep anyway. Through this whole experience of rapid change and a little disappointment, I've learned a few things:
1. I've got some good people in my life. Because my Pre-K classroom is at a daycare (even though it is public school), I could only access it for a limited number of hours in a limited number of days. I called my mom, freaking out, and she immediately volunteered to come up with my dad to assist. My coworker blocked out her Saturday morning to help me set up my classroom centers. My husband and his buddies delayed their rock-climbing trip to move furniture for me. My boss(!) even cleared her schedule and excused me from a meeting so that I had more time in my room. I asked for support only one time, and the troops rallied immediately. Those are fine people, y'all.
2. Regardless of my own perception, I'm never really in control. I had some sense of control and stability when I thought I would be teaching Pre-K all day, but ultimately nothing in this world is guaranteed. Life can completely change in a second, and when that happens, I have to choose if I am going to let its circumstances ruin me or build me. When texting with a friend about my particular situation, I told her that I was "trying to make lemonade," and she simply said to "make lots of it." Attitude is the one thing that can be regulated.
3. This year is an opportunity, not an obligation. Yes, it is hard to completely switch gears at lunchtime. Yes, I have twice as much preparation and paperwork to do. Yes, I'm a little overwhelmed and a lot exhausted. And yes, this year has tremendous potential for learning and growth. Not only do I get to teach small children to love learning for the first time, but I am able to help struggling students believe in themselves and make strides in their education. I can also build my own knowledge base and experiences as a professional by interacting with a wider range of age and ability levels.
4. "Busy" doesn't have to mean "frantic." I often equate these words as one and the same in my mind. Going into this year, I knew that I would need to set boundaries for myself so that I wouldn't go crazy. I took my work email off my phone, resolved to work or read for school only after my daughter is in bed, and realized that it really is okay to leave some tasks untouched at the end of the day. True, I do have a lot to do (I'm busy), but surprisingly, I don't feel stressed (I'm not frantic). I do recognize that my relatively calm state of being is a gift that cannot be entirely contributed to my own formation of boundaries. Thank you, Jesus.
As a side note about busyness, it is sometimes tempting for me to say that I am busier than most people I know and consequently to feel sorry for myself because I work full-time, am in grad school, have a family, and am training for a marathon. This is not a correct view because, A) I chose these things so I don't get to complain, and B) Everyone is busy and overwhelmed to some extent; I'm not more or less so than anyone else. Busyness is subjective anyway, so I don't get to compare my apples of things to do to another person's oranges.
5. Wherever I am at any given moment is exactly where I'm supposed to be. I do have my thumb in several different pies at the same time, but I can choose to be "all there" for a certain experience or "not there at all." Twenty minutes at the park with my daughter is far more valuable than two hours "with" her while she is playing with her toys and I'm responding to emails and cooking supper.
6. Every job is important. I often believe that, because I spend more time each day with my Pre-Kindergarteners, that job has a greater impact than my special education position in which I see small groups for only 20-30 minutes at a time. I had an interaction with a previous student this week that reminded me otherwise. I'll call this student Elliot. Everyone at my school knows Elliot, and let's just say that he does not make himself known in a positive way. I saw him for a twenty-minute fourth grade reading group every day last year. He had zero motivation to read and always complained about coming to group, but for some reason that I can't explain or attribute to my teaching abilities, he often volunteered to read for me and engage in the activities that I wanted him to complete. Not every day was a complete success with Elliot in my room, but there were times when the work that he did for me was the only work he finished all day. (He never pretended to be happy about it, but he did it.) I saw Elliot when I was in the cafeteria this week, and our conversation went something like this:
E (from across the cafeteria): "Hey, Mrs. Fenrick!"
Me: "Oh hey, Elliot. How's it going?"
E: "Good. Hey," (pretending to be indifferent), "are you still going to get me for reading this year?"
Me: "No, sorry, bud."
E: "Dang it! Why not?"
Me: "I'm not teaching fifth grade this year."
E: "Aw man."
Me: "Did you have a good summer?"
E: "Yep," (thinks for a minute), then, "Oh yeah, how was your summer?"
Me: "It was great. I went to Alaska."
E: "That's cool. So will you be in here for lunch duty every day?"
Sure, 2.5 hours with 15 four-year-olds every day matters, but twenty minutes a day mattered to that one kid (even if he never tells me that it did). Teaching in general matters. Office jobs matter. Technical jobs matter. Machinery and construction jobs matter. Every job is important.
Norman Public Schools calls its offsite Pre-K programs (such as the one I teach) "Bright Beginnings." If I'm really being honest about my life this year, it's going to be a wild ride, and there are days when I wonder if I'll be able to keep my head screwed on straight. But, just as Pre-K can be a "bright beginning" for students who have never experienced school before, I feel that this year can be a bright beginning for me. Change is crazy, but life is good.
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