Breathe.
That’s what I’m telling myself as I sit here on my back patio in this glorious 65-degree weather (a veritable heat wave here in our Idahome) and unpack the day straight outta Perdition.
Take small sips.
I’m telling myself that too. You know why.
It’s not often that I have days like these, but I had a heckuva one today. In short, my boss was coming through the school with some VIPs, and I ended up on the short list for classrooms they wanted to visit – just a twenty-minute stint at the very beginning of class. Easy peasy.
Which is all well and good.
I rearranged some activities so that we could show the bigwigs from our district office, a couple of principals, and other distinguished guests some writing and reading, a little collaboration with a dash of inquiry on the side. They weren’t coming until my third block of students, so I had the first two blocks to work out any kinks. Every teacher out there knows what I’m talking about, right?
Right.
So, I told the students, have those argument essays printed out and ready to go on MONDAY! No exceptions. Overcome your obstacles! Seize the day! Carpe Diem, ya little Hope Givers! I BELIEVE IN YOU!!!
Every teacher out there knows what's about to happen, right?
Right.
First block showed up, and I spent the first twenty minutes of the hour printing out papers for the dozen or so kids who forgot theirs so that we could even DO the activity.
And it hit me…
Sweet little baby Jesus on a tricycle… this is all the VIP bigwigs are going to see – just me printing out papers.
Second block showed up and, lo and beHOLD, I spent the first twenty minutes of the period printing out papers for the dozen or so kids who forgot theirs so that we could even DO the activity!
My anxiety levels were the size of Dolly Parton’s braziers – deep enough for me to dive right in and go swimming in all that cold sweat.
And third block? I knew what was coming.
Remember that “Anticipation” Heinz Ketchup commercial? I wasn’t anticipating anything good like that. I was anticipating having my arse handed to me.
It was like anticipating your dad coming home when you just threw a rock and it missed the thing you were aiming at, but you sure did manage to chuck it through your neighbor’s front window.
You know what’s coming, and there’s not a goll dern thing you can do about it.
It was like anticipating the mononucleosis that you’re sure to get because you know you were making out with that boy, and he just got diagnosed and your parents are going to want to know how EVER you managed to come down with that and you don't think the 'toilet seat' thing is gonna flush.
You know what’s coming, and there’s not a goll dern thing you can do about it.
It was like standing on the train tracks with your shoelaces tied to the rails and guess what? Yeah. Here comes the train.
You know what’s coming, and there’s not a goll dern thing you can do about it.
Like that.
I got a million of ‘em. I’ve been doing this all day – thinking of metaphors for my current situation. I’m a writer. It’s what I do.
So third block comes ‘round, and all the people from the head-shed are there, and the devil’s on my back and I can’t shake him off, shake him off (ode to Florence and the Machine, right there) and I have to say it because we can’t do the thing if we don’t have the things to do the thing:
"Please come up here if you need me to print your paper."
And God strike me with a urinary tract infection if I am lying… half my class got up and walked forward like they were headed to the altar to ask Jesus into their hearts at a Billy Graham crusade.
And all I could think in that moment, in front of all those VIPs and my boss (who is a VIP every day) was…
I put a bra on for this?
Kill me now.
I printed off papers for the first twenty minutes of class, which is all the time they had, and just when I was about to embark on the GREATEST ACTIVITY EVER IN THE HISTORY OF ACTIVITIES…
… they all walked out.
And I knew it would happen. I knew it in the first twenty minutes of my day. It all rolled out the way I knew it would like greased wheels -- and ran me over like a flat diet coke.
And these are my confessions:
~ My anxiety during first and second block was palpable, and my kids felt it and were flinchy the whole time because they could just feel that, at any moment and with the least amount of provocation, I would be flying around the room on my broomstick screeching, I’ll get you, my pretties!
~ Because… I wanted to dropkick kids through the goal posts of life. I did. I really did.
~ Every time a kiddo apologized to me for ‘forgetting’ to print out their paper, I stopped breathing.
~ And I have no poker face. I’m from Vegas, and I have no poker face. I’m a disgrace to my hometown. I am. I’m a disgrace. I could do better – but I don’t. So I plastered on the fakest smiles which only looked like I was trying to hold back explosive diarrhea, and it scared them.
I scared my babies today.
Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.
But…
I didn’t lose my shiz with any of them. I didn’t. I held it together. Because here’s what I know:
They’re beautiful, and they’re twelve. Some have turned thirteen by now, but it’s really not much more than twelve.
And what kept me together is knowing that each individual child only represented 1% of my frustration and certainly didn’t deserve 99% of my wrath.
So I held it in.
All day.
And I was on the verge of tears.
All day.
Even so, I am thanking God for them for the gifts that they are.
And thanking God for the VIPs who showed me so much grace and generosity.
And for my husband who, after school, looked into my eyes and pulled me close and said, “What can I do, baby? What can I do?”
So I breathe here on my patio.
And I sip slowly.
And I know that these are not the moments that define me.
And I am thankful for this wonderful life that I live most days.
Post Script – Couldn’t help but notice when I got home that I have black smudges on what used to be my pristine, white AVID shirt. I have no idea how they got here or when and am wondering if they’ve been there all day?
Post, Post Script – I think I need some more sips.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Daisy Rain Martin is an author, speaker, advocate, and educator as well as a founding member of The Flying M-Inklings Writing Group. She lives with her husband, Sean-Martin, in the beautiful state of Idaho and teaches English and Literature during the school year to the best 7th graders the world over. Daisy spends her summers writing, speaking, researching, creating, gardening, and canning.
Hope Givers: Hope is Here, is the sequel, of sorts, to her comedic, spiritual memoir, Juxtaposed: Finding Sanctuary on the Outside, which was Christopher Matthews #1 top selling book in 2012. She has also written a free e-book for anyone who has or is currently being sexually abused called, If It’s Happened to You.
Please follow her weekly blog, SATURDAISIES, which addresses a plethora of current issues including child advocacy, all things hilarious, and matters of the heart. She would love for you to join the Rainy Dais Community by friending her on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram.
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