My mornings are incredibly busy. Busy to the point of manic.
Being a teacher means that I divide myself into two halves, two personalities.
From 6am-8am I’m Mummy, getting my own kids off to school. This involves all the usual stuff, (I won’t bore you), as well as making myself presentable and racing out the door to embark on my hour long commute – three drop-offs, my own included.
While my little Crapastra putts along, we listen to music and do a little in-car dancing. In the back seat, they fight, they cry, they laugh. I navigate through the traffic, run lists through my head, apply make-up at the lights and secretly pray that it is not a morning where Miss 2 throws up her breakfast – her latest party trick.
Mummy! Mama! MUM!
After drop-off number two, I drive myself to school and park in our impossible car park.
My title changes from Mummy to Miss and I navigate again, this time through the corridors to my staffroom, hopefully in time to stick some bread in the toaster, which I eat on my way to my first class.
My students, each with their attitudes and sensitivities, are my other children. Some days I want to gaffer tape their mouths closed but other days, their energy keeps me moving.
My own children are my life, but my students is where I draw my inspiration.
It would be unethical of me to tell you their stories but some have such incredible tales to tell. Hardship, disadvantage… Their stories may seem far-fetched but they are very genuine.
My manic mornings pale in comparison.
The vast majority of my students make me want to try harder, be a better teacher. They inspire me to do more and invest more, so school means something, to all of us.
Miss, can I ask..?
Miss, do you have..?
Miss, I need…
I know I won’t change their world but changing an hour in their day, providing an experience listening, helping – it can improve their existence.
This part of my job is not like academic achievement and report comments, it can’t be measured. You’re rewarded with a nod, or a smile, or a student wanting to stay beyond the bell, to ask another question.
To me, that is inspiring.
So when the last bell rings I’m heading out the door, out the car park and back in my Crapastra, navigating the streets of Sydney once more, rushing home to start the afternoon shift.
So, what inspires you?
Do you have an alter ego?
Linking up with Jess for #IBOT over at Essentially Jess.