I am lying here, sore and exhausted, up way past my bedtime, and an overwhelming sense of sadness just hit me. I only have three weeks left of Summer break, and one of those is filled with training that I am not thrilled about attending. My vacation has been cut short by two weeks thanks to so-called professional development. Such is the life of a teacher.
I think I am terrified. Time is passing way too quickly now that I am a mommy. When I go back to work, Mason starts kindergarten. He will commute in with me to attend the best school in the city. But, if I had it my way, our house would sell— it’s on the market, for whatever that’s worth– and we would live so close to a school that we could walk to it, immersed in its community. That’s the way I grew up, and I want that for him and Miss Julia.
The truth is, my job allows me this wonderful opportunity to send him to such a great school. For that, I am grateful. However, because I am tied to his school, I am also tied to my job. I would be completely dishonest if I did not admit that sometimes I feel stifled. My legal brain needs to be utilized more.
Yet, it’s not a more intellectually challenging job I seek, though I am ambitious and competitive by nature. I am, instead, mourning the time I have not spent with my children at home. I have blinked and my babies and toddlers have turned into children before my very eyes. I feel like I missed so much focusing on my job and then the death of my Mom.
If I had it to do over again, and I do not, I would have stayed at home. Feminism, independence, and student loans be damned. I would have driven myself mad tending to my little ones, and then later focused on my career.
For now, though, I will adjust my attitude, be grateful for my job and my kids’ educational opportunities, and cry myself to sleep.
After all, in the famous last words of Scarlett O’Hara, tomorrow is another day.
But please pray that our house sells.