I Love ME?

I Love ME?

I will never cease to be amazed at how different two children, raised in the same household, can be.  I didn’t believe this upon the birth of my second child, who weighed three pounds more and was 5 inches longer than her older sister.  I should have known right then.  However, after two years of raising these two incredibly mysterious beings, I am gaining some perspective.  Sawyer, my conscientious, nervous, studious, fashion-conscious, and newly seven year old was upstairs in her room playing school.  She was talking to her class about reading stamina, schema, strategies to help one better their reading, then started talking about metacognition.  I smiled. Ahhh, a genius, proof she’s mine.  Almost simultaneously, my precocious, hyper, outgoing, mismatched, and not even not-even-two year old, Harper, tugged at my leg.

 “Mumma, mumma…”

“What, Harp?”

“I poop outside.  I love me.” Oh, she looks like me, but she’s probably been switched at birth.

Seriously?

What does this mean anyway?  Did she, indeed, poop outside at some point?  Does she just make a general rule of pooping outdoors?  Or is she just using the wrong tense of the verb or the wrong preposition perhaps?  I thought about using this as a grammar exercise for my high schoolers, but that’s a can of worms I was not willing to open.

There are times, as a parent and a teacher that I really want to congratulate myself.  Two thumbs  up, Leann.  Doing great.  They’re alive, they’re getting it, they’re learning, you didn’t forget to sign the planner.  You remembered to pack lunches.  The laundry is folded AND put away…except for this one last basket.  And just like that, the negatives start piling up, making you doubt EVERYTHING. The ifs, ands, and buts of life start overshadowing your progress and faith in yourself. 

That awesome activity you planned went over like a lead balloon.  You have five kids failing.  You didn’t submit your lesson plans online.  You forgot boots for Harper. You didn’t pick up Sawyer’s cookie dough.  You didn’t start the coffee.  And, holy crap, are you vacuuming, dusting, and doing dishes instead of playing with your kids or grading papers?  HOW DARE YOU!

Case in point: one of my kids panics and cries over forgotten homework and plays school where she discusses  metacognition—something I’m  not even sure how to explain to a second grader.  The other will probably never have that issue because she discusses defecation in the out-of-doors and has problems with pronouns. She gets me and you confused. The only thing that makes me feel slightly better about the whole thing is that what she was really saying was not that she loved herself.  She really meant I love you.

I’m not saying that changes everything, but man, it makes things a lot closer to okay.  I didn’t teach either one of my kids anything that was said in this conversation, but I’m a teacher by trade. Sawyer said something that made me proud and the only credit I can take is giving birth to her.  I’ve never known Harper to poop outside, nor do I condone such activity, but I can’t take credit for that either.  Teachers and parents are under immense pressure.  We are under the microscope, judged and evaluated in every aspect of our jobs, public or private.  As a teacher and a parent, I can say I am the ultimate control freak, and letting go of that might need to be the next lesson plan I write for myself.  If we give moms, dads, and teachers a little bit of a break and maybe just voice our admiration or appreciation every once in awhile, life might be a little easier for everyone, especially our kids.