Doing Hard Things

The sign on my classroom door reads, “We can do hard things.” Wednesday  I did all the hard things. It was a hard, hard day! 

I was awoken at 1:30am. Our sweet little girl wasn’t feeling well. I sat with her until she fell back asleep, and then I spent the rest of the night on her floor. I watched the rise-and-fall of her chest and jumped at each rustle of her rainbow sheets. I rested my hand against her forehead to monitor her temperature. I held her precious, little hand. 

Then, my alarm sounded. I got up and got ready to spend my day with other people’s children.  

Just before I left, H awoke and asked me, “Mama, can you please stay home with me?” I had to tell her no. I had lessons that couldn’t be executed by subs and wasn’t sure there were subs; there was an activity I promised I would help a college with; i scheduled a make-up work meeting with  student before school.  My heart broke. 

I promised H I’d check in often as I  tucked her back into bed. And then E started to rustle, and then he started to cry. I wanted to scoop him out of his crib, kiss his forehead, and play with his blocks and read his favorite  book. I had to go. I was going to be late. I looked to BRunn and my watch. I looked back at H laying in her bed. I walked out of our home loathing the ‘choice’ I had to make, loathing myself. 

I got to work, met with a student, counseled a few others, helped out my colleague, and facilitated some pretty great lessons. I had a really good teacher day. But it’s hard not to think about the cost.  It’s really hard to do “hard things.”