Gum Smacking and Pen Chewing

It is now the space between stress and preparation. Between execution and anticipation.

Hello there first Saturday.

The weekend has become a sacred space. A homely space. A quiet space. This is the day that work can wait. And grading can wait. And planning can wait. Everything can wait while the things I must do everyday pause for the span of forty-eight hours.

Giving me a moment

to reflect.

This week, I exchanged my teacher's virginity for the harsh reality of spending eleven hours at school, 6:15 to 5:15. Each day. Monday through Friday. Florescent lights have become my sunshine. Notebook paper has become my breakfast. And countdowns from five and behavior narration have become the water that chases it all down.

I have learned what it means to live teaching, to breath teaching, to eat teaching. Supper is the part of the day when I scrap together the few groceries I own (there is no need for them for the majority of the day) to make a meal that is hot and eaten on a plate.

How refreshing it is to not eat PB&J at a school desk with writing scratched into it.

But this first week, along with teaching me that I cannot do this on my own, taught me how to cherish the moments that make it all worth it.

"Ms. Perkins?" Destiny said as she motioned me over to her desk.

"Yes, dear?"

"May I make an announcement?"

And within seconds I heard the voice of a twelve-year-old explaining--to the entire class--that she liked to give presents to her favorite teacher at the beginning of the year. After this proclamation, she handed me a small box, smiled, and picked up her pencil, continuing to work on her project.

Favorite?

The school year has just started. I am already exhausted. But I am also already head over heels in love with my students. Some of them anyway. And, as for the rest of them, we are well on our way. Even if they don't like to follow directions the first time. Or second. Or third.

So this is it. The end of week one and very nearly the beginning of week two.

I am nervous.

And scared.

Overwhelmed.

But hopeful.

And eager to see what new adventures room 107 will bring as ninety students walk through my door on Monday, ready to share their stories in the midst of their gum smacking (which must stop at the door) and endless pen chewing.