The Way Things Are

I know we are only three weeks into the school year.

I know that I'm probably jinxing myself.

But I'm going to say it anyway: (So far) Things are smashing.

I think a summer of doing a lot of nothing was exactly what I needed. My soul repaired itself. That might sound dramatic, but it's true.

I felt so broken last year. Each day was a struggle. I'd fake it as long as I could and then crumble.

It's not like a lot has changed.

I still get up at 5am. I don't like it, but it doesn't take all my will to leave the warmth of my bed.

I still get the kids up and out of the house. I still fight traffic. I still have to walk a half mile (only a slight exaggeration) to school, rain or shine due to the construction of our new building.

I still teach a class full of little ones. I still deal with the politics associated with the public education system. I still have paperwork that is a lot like laundry; it never ends.

I still fight more traffic. I still get home and help with homework, pack lunches, cook dinner, do some chores, and then go to bed earlier than I want.

But for some reason...it's OK.

If anything, I'm working harder. I've got a challenging group of kids this year. Some of them more challenging than others. Ahem.

But I really like them. I feel a connection with my little ruffians. They are a challenge, but the kind of challenge I enjoy meeting. I believe in those kids and refuse to write them off, or let anyone else write them off for that matter.

I know you aren't supposed to have favorite students, but I can't help myself this year: The Girl is in my class.

It was by choice. And there was a lot of skepticism surrounding my decision, but it's working out beautifully. I get to see her make friends, learn to read and write, and grow as a little human. I get to see her beyond the scope of a mother. That's pretty special.

She calls me Mrs. Senske. She leaves Teddy in my teacher closet. She is part of my posse.

The Boy is happy too. Finally. Happy...at school.

No more faking illness in the morning. No more tantrums about homework.

*No more effing spelling tests.*

Hallelujah.

He's getting the help he needs. Modifications are in place. The work load is manageable.

He finally feels like he belongs.

It doesn't hurt that he believes he's the next Percy Jackson.

I can't express how grateful I am to all the people who have worked so hard to give The Boy the support he needs to be successful in school. They see that smart, talented, creative kid that's been trapped in a box of broken code.

Bless them.

There was one good thing that came from last year's malaise; The Mr. and I rediscovered us. I'm not sure how to describe it.

We grew closer. We became really good friends. Better friends than I think we've ever been. To me, that's the most important part of a relationship.

He was my rock. I'd pour a glass of wine after the kids were asleep, start talking, and he would listen. He let me be. He understood my moments of rebelliousness. He knew there were certain mornings where I really couldn't.

I don't know what I would have done without him.

I credit The Mr. with my current state of being. He encouraged a summer of healing, fun, and relaxation.

What can I say? He's the bomb.

I've been taking time to do things I enjoy. Even if it's a mere fifteen minutes before I grab my bath in the evening. It's something.

Inspiration is finding me again.

I'm admitting that I need help. That I can't do it all.

We are going out more. Sometimes with The Offspring. Sometimes, thanks to grandparents, without.

I'm letting it go. It's rolling off my back. It's not getting under my skin.

I tell the basket of laundry to go piss-off when it sits there and mocks me.

It is what it is.

And right now, I can't complain.