Irony at Its Finest

I used to be a teacher. I used to be a high school teacher. I used to be a high school English teacher. Don't judge me.

I talked in my first blog post ever about why I wanted to blog and the pressure I felt to be a "PERFECT" example of creative and grammatically correct writing. I no longer feel that pressure. Thank goodness!

But as we trudge nearer to Christmas, I still have a strong feeling of compassion for the teacher. Especially the English teacher. The papers. The grading. The deadlines. The students who just aren't motivated. I'm reminded of one of the reasons I began teaching: a love for teenagers at such a pivotal moment in their lives.

Having lost my mother when I was a sophomore in high school, I could relate to some of the tragedies students go through during their pubescent years. Sometimes it was easy to talk to them and let them know someone understood. Sometimes it was hard to watch a student make such negative choices for themselves.

Now that I have two children in "school," I have a different perspective. Granted, I don't get calls from the teachers that my child is failing, got in a fight, threw a tantrum, but I know a preschool teacher deals with a lot of attitude and, quite frankly, pee-pee and poo-poo.

I made the unfortunate decision to send A.E. to school in big girl underwear last week. She had been progressing quite well in the potty training ranks, and I thought this was the next level we could go to. Just in case, I sent some extra pants, socks and underwear. With feelings of apprehension, when I walked in the school to pick up the girls, my eyes scanned the hallway for signs of success. I was greeted with a bag full of urine soaked clothes. And I was angry.

I wasn't angry at A.E. I was angry with myself. Do you ever make parenting decisions where, in retrospect, you knew what you should have done and didn't? I had that mom-moment where as I helped A.E. get dressed that morning, I knew it in my core that she wasn't ready. When I dropped her off, I knew she wasn't ready. An hour before it was time to pick her up, I knew she wasn't ready. AND I contemplated picking her up early to avoid any accidents. But I didn't.

So I was angry with myself. I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know what else I can say to A.E. to help understand how to know if she needs to go. I'm just going to have to have more accidents. And wake up earlier. And do more laundry. And laugh.

So today when I picked the girls up from school, I left with their teachers a little Christmas present. H.J.'s teachers got cute metal magnets that look like presents, bow and all. But for A.E.'s teachers, they got soap. And it looked like this:

QUIZ: Did you catch the irony?

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