End-of-Summer Musings

Summer break 2016 has come to an end, and I feel…a lot.

I sit here in the bed, showered but unpacked, ready for tomorrow, and not, watching Maya in the baby monitor. My last baby. Such a little character! I wonder where she gets it.

I’ve relished the last few weeks being home with her every day. Watching her play with play doh and dolls and plastic bags, try out new words (up to 2-3 new words every day now), sing along to her favorite shows (Bubble Guppies and Mickey Mouse Clubhouse), dance. I’ve soaked in the feeling of her tiny warm body sprawled across my chest for her daily nap. The faint scent of grape seed oil in her hair. Her warm breath on my neck.

I’ve watched her older sister, my firstborn, her once lanky form shape-shifting before my eyes. She moves from couch to couch, room to room, bristling with emotion, switching between energy and ennui without notice. We’ve summered together. We shopped and sang, basked and baked away the days. Concerts and museum visits and Netflix binges.

I want to hold this time in my hands. But as with all time, it slips through my fingers like tiny diamonds. I can’t hold them, but I can remember them, these moments, if not individually, then as a sort of mosaic. Or more like a pointillist painting, a scene best seen when you step back, composed of a million little moments. Points perfect.

I hover between tenses; past, present and future.

Longing for days still warm from my having just been there. Basking in the after-glow. Anxiously awaiting the school year ahead.  Innovative ideas springing into mind like pop-ups.

This time I will..

With this class..

I was made for this.

I’m obsessed with creating the conditions for finding meaning and purpose.

It’s a virus. This desire to evoke. Educate. Educare (latin): to draw out that which lies within.

I’m infected…and contagious. I hope.

It is my protest.

The longing I feel for moments with my own children, for the freedom of summer, for the solace of it is matched with the longing to make learning meaningful for someone else’s.

And so I set my course for another year. Another campus to make home.

And after the day is done, I’ll come back to them. My own babies.

I’m as ready as I can be.

Year 12, a year of magical teaching.