Wow ... you must be so patient ...

... Nope... Just crazy.

When people ask me what I do and I tell them I'm a teacher, they always act shocked.

"Oh, bless you."
"I could never do that."
"That takes a calling."
"I can't imagine dealing with other people's kids all day long."

And then I tell them I teach middle school, and they're all,

"Wow, how do you handle the attitude?"
"You must be asking for punishment."
"Middle schoolers are so disrespectful; how do you handle them?"

And then I mention that I teach special ed 8th graders.

And I contain my giggle as their faces contort and twist into expressions of shock and disgust.

Seriously, people, it's not that bad.  The horrors and nightmares you have contructed in your mind are nothing like my days.  Well, not entirely.

If anything, the kids are the reason I stay in teaching.  And the super awesome people I work with.

So why do I do it?  In these days of crappy health care, budget cuts, growing class sizes, and more focus on test scores, why do I stay in the classroom?

Trust me, I hear this question almost as often as I see the contortion in faces.

Most days, if you ask me, I can't come up with a reason right away.  My reasons are difficult to put into words.  Especially is you ask me on a day when I've had meetings, essays to grade, and parent phone calls to return.  Especially if you ask me after my small group language arts class which, 4 days out of 5, feels like a 3-ring circus.  Especially if you ask me after a lesson that I have spent hours writing fails miserably because of lack of interest or behavior problems in the classroom.

But there are glimmers in a day ... moments of enlightenment ... and I am reminded ... reminded of what brought me to teaching.

"Just enjoy your kiddos."

After working on some lesson plans this morning, running a load of towels, making all the beds, and emptying the trash, I texted Tim to get my Honey-Do list for the day.  So rarely do I have the chance to ask him if he needs anything during the day.  Even more rarely does he require my services -- he's so self-sufficient, after all.   Alas, I asked, "Anything you need me to do today?"

His response was priceless.

"Just enjoy your kiddos."

He makes my heart gush.

After sending him a cute little emoticon blowing a kiss, I started thinking about how times have changed.  Not so long ago I would pay to have some time alone.  Some time to sit and think.  Some time to read.  There have been times in the not-so-distant past that I have considered hijacking my children -- kidnapping them and stealing them-- rescuing them, even-- from their lives.  Just last week, among the snow and ice, I wished for a few more stolen moments with the "babies" inside my kids.  While we grunted and moaned our way through dressing for the snow (Good Lord, how do Northerners do that all the time?!) ... while Tim and I barked orders to "Hold your sleeve!" or "Put on your wool socks!" followed with screams of "Yes, you do need two pairs of socks!" and "That's a stupid question -- of course you need a hat!"... I still felt myself wanting it to slow down.  I don't necessarily want time to slow down to the pace of a turtle ... or the pace at which Tanner ties his shoes ... but I just want a little more time to enjoy some of these moments that are swooshing past at lightning speed.

Let me give you an example.

As a child, my parents took my brother and I to see the Ringling Brothers Circus every year.  It is one of the many things that my parents did that, quite honestly, Josh and I took for granted.  As we prepared to take our brood to the circus last night, I realized that we have so few chances like this.  I caught myself getting annoyed as Tanner pouted his way through the CNN Center because he was hungry.  I was flustered that Kendall wouldn't hold my hand and, instead, wanted to hold Jack's hand (Jack is five ... so don't start worrying about that yet!)  During the intermission, I was miffed that Kendall kept asking, "When is this gonna be over?"

Then, I was annoyed with myself.  For being annoyed.

In order to block out the guilt I felt while watching the elephants doing their little dances (Yes, I've read Water For Elephants), I began reflecting on how much of my time with my children is spent wishing for that particular moment to be over.  The whining, the arguing, the fighting, the incessant complaining.  I wish for it all to end as soon as it begins.  But just as I wish for that time to speed up, the other moments-- the hugs, the smiles, the laughter-- are also speeding by.

I recently read a fellow blogger  (Yes, I still consider myself a "fellow" though I haven't blogged in, like, a year.) who posted on this exact phenomenon and how wishing for the bad times to pass (and then feeling guilty about it) have led moms to compete so much.  I constantly find myself now, when other mom friends unload about their bedtime battles or their potty training woes, repeating her mantra, "This is normal."

And then I follow it up with, "This too shall pass."

Meant to be a promise of encouragement, it is also a warning.  A warning that, yes, your child will eventually want you to sleep in your own bed without her ...  and you will miss feeling that close.  A warning that, yes, your son will eventually stop wearing diapers ...  and he'll also stop wearing those cute little jon jons and will, instead, ask for shirts with skulls and such.  A warning that, yes, your house will be very quiet one day soon as your children play outside in the snow without you ... and you'll wish they still wanted you to be part of their clique.

And this is normal.

So I'll go enjoy my kiddos for now -- while they want to help make dinner.