An Empty Classroom

Bitty and I went with some other mom and baby friends to a spraypark today.  The littlest ones splashed in the bubblers and water tables, and the walking ones happily declared war on the sprayers!  We packed a lunch to eat in the picnic area, and it was probably my most favorite afternoon of the summer. 

Water tables make Bitty just want to DANCE

On our way home, we went by an elementary school.  Today must have been "meet the teacher" day, because I saw lots of parents and kids on the sidewalks; girls marching along in their skirts and mary janes and the boys in their jeans and collared shirts.  As we drove past, I found myself with tears in my eyes, reminded of the excitement and anxiety that I always felt on open house day. 

Except not this year. 

One of my favorite parts of the school year is the "getting ready" part.  Unpacking boxes, things seeming so new and clean (because I had gone to such painstaking lengths as I packed them away in June);  it's a new beginning, a fresh start. Usually, throughout the summer I had researched and thought and planned and daydreamed about the changes I would make for this year.   It was exciting to prep for the "new thing" that I was convinced would engage and enthuse my new students. 

Except not this year.

I miss my old profession.  Clearly. 

Yet, I am reminded everyday of why I made the decision to stay home with Bitty.  Such as the look upon Bitty's face when she climbs up and reaches the top of the stairs.  I think of opening the door to her nursery and seeing her awake from her nap, pulled up, and smiling over her crib with a look that says "Come and get me, mama.  I'm awake!"  Just today, she crawled through the unlatched baby gate into the kitchen, and then sat up on the other side, and closed the gate behind her, before continuing on in her pursuit of....well, who knows what.  Probably the trash can.  It was one of those moments that I realized, Ohmigod she's watching our every move.  She shut the gate just as we always do.  It was a moment that I wouldn't give anything for;  a moment that I again realized, I need to be here.

My teacher friends are all starting school next week.  They are all setting up their classrooms, attending the newest motivating inservice, and prepping for the school year (or at least grading period) ahead.  They are organizing their classrooms in such a way to serve as a "second teacher" and planning their directed lessons in a differentiated way so that they appeal to all of the students...The enhusiasm, the hope, and the potential of a new school year...of a new class of students...is exciting. 

And I miss it.

I write this, again, with tears in my eyes, of the tug-of-war struggle within me.  I love being with my own sweet baby, yet I love teaching your babies, too.

I'm honestly not sure how to end this post.  Except to say love your baby's teacher.  Because she loves your baby, too.

Do Not Disturb. Seriously, Though.

Well, as you know, I've returned to work.  I am about two weeks in and still hate it.  I feel so detached from my baby and it makes me sad that I spend such little time with her during the week.  But, I have gained a new appreciation for working parents because it is pretty insane trying to balance everything.  For me anyway. Or maybe I'm just insane; the jury is still out.

To make matters worse, the custodian has walked in on me pumping twice.  Intentionally.  Maybe we have a little bit of a cultural conflict, but in my world, pumping is for private.

The first time, she knocked on my classroom door, and I called out, "I'm pumping!  Be done pretty soon!"  So what would that mean to you?  Come back later, right?

She did come back later...three minutes later...unlocked my door, propped it open, and proceeded to empty the trash cans and sweep the floors.  All while I am sitting there, boobs out and giving anyone in the vicinity quite an eyeful.  I sat stunned for a few moments, not sure where I had gone wrong.  I had the door locked!  I had the window covered!  I issued fair warning!  Then I heard the sound of children's voices coming down the hallway.  After school tutorial.

"Can you at least close the door?  I hear kids coming and I don't want them to see this!"

Thankfully, she did close the door.  And finished sweeping the floor.  Really?  Finally she exited, leaving me in peace.

The next day, I put my trash can outside of the door, thinking that would be enough of a hint . . .don't come in here.  I heard the custodian empty the can and walk away.  Phew, I thought.  Ten minutes later, I also heard the sound of a key unlocking the door, and sure enough, it was time to sweep the floors.  This time I had to be direct and requested that she return when I was finished.

I haven't had any incidents other than those two, thank goodness.  But I am still getting a deadbolt.  And chain lock.  And maybe even a Doberman.

This Is For The Birds

Maternity leave is over.  Yesterday was my first day back to work.
It's terrible.  The kids part is ok--I returned to lots of love notes,
we-missed-you-notes, and presents for Bitty.  It's the being-away-from-baby part that is making my heart ache.  Yesterday I was gone before Bitty awoke, returned at 5:15 with enough time to play  give her a bottle and then walk her around the house for about 30 minutes to keep her from fussing before it was time to get ready for bed.

Today, Bitty was again asleep when I left for work, and was sleeping for the night when I arrived back home at five (turns out the insomniac child only took three 30-minutes naps today). Which means I was able to spend, oh, ZERO time with her.  Unless you count the 90 minutes that I laid in bed with her just so I could hold her.
-sniff sniff-

I   **hate** work.


In other news . . .

The kids asked today if I was having another baby.

Me:  No, one baby is all I can handle right now.

Student:  Then why is your stomach still fat if there isn't a baby in there?


Looks like I need to step up the diet and exercise.

Kids and Bellies

The other day my grandma asked me what the kids at school think about their teacher being pregnant.  This got me thinking of some of the more amusing interactions that I've had with some of the kids about pregnancy.

My own first grade class is pretty unphased about it.  But, they have three main questions: 
1.  When are we going to get to see the baby?
2.  How long are you going to be gone?
3.  Are we going to like our substitute teacher?

The third question is a big concern mostly with the little boys...which is interesting to me, because I would have thought the the girls would be more emotionally attached to their teachers.  But, I have had several parents comment about how their sons come home from school after I have left early for a doctor's appointment, and lament about how much they don't like it when I'm gone.  Which in a way, makes me feel kind of good--like they really miss me;  but it also surprises me because girls are supposed to be the sensitive ones, right?  But the girls, well, they couldn't really care less about the whole thing.

This seems to be the case outside of my own classroom, too.  The little boys are WAY more interested in pregnancy. 

As I was walking my class out to their buses one day early in the school year, a second grade student called out to me, "Hi Mrs. Bittenbender!  I love your baby!" 

One of the other first grade students in my collegue's class likes to keep tabs on my progress.  Whenever he sees me in the hallway, he likes to ask, "How many months are you, now?"

And then, there are two kindergarten boys who seem to have a thing for pregnant women.    Both of the boys greet me excitedly whenever our classes cross paths, and each have cute little comments that they like to throw in occasionally.  "Hi!  I like you!"  or "Hi!  You're nice!"  Clearly, this child does not know me well.

Honesty and Manners

Phew!  It has been a busy couple of weeks!  No time for blogging!  In Virginia, we don't start school until the Tuesday after Labor Day, and the beginning of the year is always a hectic time.  Add to that the fact that I have been out of town the past two weekends (so that's every weekend since we started)--I am definitely ready to get back to a normal schedule this weekend. 

Anyway, I have a feeling that my students will be the source of some amusement for the blog.  Take this story, for example.   

Two days after school began I had to leave an hour early for yet another ultrasound appointment.  I explained to the kids that I was going to a doctor's appointment, which, as usual, had them concerned.  The kids always get worried when their teacher has to go to the doctor.  I assured them that I wasn't sick, the doctor just wanted to take a picture of the baby to make sure she was growing okay.  "What baby?"  they wanted to know.   I replied, "Well, the baby in my belly of course!" 

They were completely flabbergasted that I had a baby in my stomach.  "A baby?  There's a baby in there? You're having a baby?" they asked in disbelief. 

"Why, yes!  Did you think that I was just fat?"  I wanted to know.  A little sheepishly, one of the girls replied, "Well, we would never actually tell you that."  

At least they're polite.

Mederma Isn't Going to Work on This Scar

I had such a productive week. My classroom is nearly completely set up. I made record time this year. I love productivity. A day that I can get some things crossed off my list is a great day for me. To extend this streak of efficiency, I decided to stop into the Wal-Mart down by my school to pick up a few things.

It was pleasantly quiet inside Wal-Mart on this particular day. Normally, I try to avoid the store. It seems that whenever I'm there, the child-to-adult ratio is about 15:1; and the majority of those children are running through the aisles, playing hide-and-seek, tag, and otherwise screaming like banchees. And their parents are either clueless or pretending to be clueless. It makes me crazy. The teacher in me is compelled to reprimand these little fiends, and if the mood strikes me, I do. "No Running!" "Your mother told you to come over there, and you need to listen." I can't help myself. Especially since probably half of these children are students at my school, so it sort of just seems like an extension to the school day.

But, as I mentioned, this visit was quite the opposite. I calmly perused the aisles in peace. I picked up the items that I came for, and a few things that I didn't. Walking past the women's section, I spotted a display of underware. I have recently grown to have an affinity towards the comfort and coverage of granny panties. These days, when it comes to undergarments, the bigger the better. I stood there, inspecting the color and sizes, when to my right, I heard a voice say "Hi, Mrs. Bittenbender!"

I glanced over to see one of the students from my school. I did not have him in my class, and I am unsure of him name, but I recognized him--I think maybe a fourth or fifth grader; a nice one, the kind that holds the door open for you and says hello in the hallway.

Any teacher can imagine the look on a student's face when they spot you out in the "real world" doing regular stuff. They are so shocked and excited to see you outside of the school environment. Like in disbelief that teachers actually go grocery shopping, or to a restaurant. The younger, the more astonished they are.

The next moment passed quickly, but it was seemingly slow-motion. The nice boy had that familiar excited expression on his face when he first saw me, but then he noticed what I was holding up in my hands--a set of gigantic granny panties. His expression changed from excitement...to surprise...and then utter disgust.

I decided to play it nonchalant. I placed the undies in my basket and said,"Oh, hi. I hope you're having a good summer!" He nodded and then we both spun about face and carried on in opposite directions.

Retrospectively, I probably should exercise more prudence when it comes to shopping for unmentionables. Like, not do it anywhere in the vacinity of my school. But, truly, I am not the victim here. The memory of one of his knocked-up teachers purchasing an enormous pair of underware will surely scar that poor child for life. I can only pray that time will heal the wounds.