Dear younger, louder, unemployed self,

 

Dear younger, less wise self still wondering if you'll ever get a real teaching job,

You do.  You sign a contract that says you'll be in charge of precious children, but you don't know you'll call them that yet or that they'll practically have their own Twitter feed.  Get excited, the way you get hired is perfect… (ly) crazy.  You'll sign the contract on Friday and start work Tuesday.  The night you sign the contract, you'll meet the parents.  Yeah, you don't even know what time school starts, where the bathrooms are, or really anything else except that this is a day you've dreamed of most of your life. 

You'll have a room full of real fire crackers.  The first semester, you'll give them too free of reign.  The end of the first and beginning of second semester you'll regret not hammering procedures into them for the first few weeks of school.  Hopefully you'll do better next year, if you survive that long. 

On the topic of survival, you'll have a lot of days where you'll want to quit and be a waitress.  You'll be confused, discouraged, tired, and think that people are asking too much of one human.  It's odd, but somehow the insurmountable gets surmounted and you live to see another sunrise.  It'll behoove you to plan ahead.  Sometimes you will, and sometimes you won't.  Sometimes you'll wing it and soar, but sometimes you'll wing it and crash.  You'll comfort yourself with the fact that kids are resilient and first year teachers are only first year teachers once.  Second year HAS to be easier.

You'll grow a lot.  Being a teacher is kind of like being on stage.  Your flaws and features are on display for your kids, their parents and your fellow teachers to see.  Sometimes you'll be so mad at your kids that you'll shout.  You don't lose your temper much at all, but work on keeping discipline redemptive but firm.  Keep the parents in the loop.  I know, they sort of terrify you.  It's OK.  Sometimes they'll get upset at you, but don't worry.  It's just because they love their kids, mostly. 

Oh, those kids.  Sometimes they will sort of make your breath catch in your throat when you think about the things they've been through or the way their life is hard.  It's second semester and you still haven't figured out how to keep PC18 from shouting out the answers.  Oh well, keep trying.  You'll call them your children affectionately, and when sad, heavy things happen, a great wave will well up in you that just wants to love and protect them.  Don't get me wrong, they'll frustrate you to no end.  They have to learn how to think.  Video games and fast food don't really improve higher order thinking skills.  Up day or down day, though, you love them dearly, and that's a start, at least. 

You'll learn how hard it is to balance being a first year teacher with the other stuff you want to do.  You'll work a lot of weekends and nights and holidays.  You'll realize you really haven't done anything hard in your life until now.  That's OK.  You survive that too, and you learn that God is faithful to provide what you need.  No exceptions.  Your RC will be awesome.  You'll talk through lots of things with them, joke with them, decorate cookies with them, roast marshmallows with them.  It's a pretty eclectic little band, but you'll get close. 

Believe it or not, YOU, LMS, are old enough to make grown up friends.  And you WILL make grown up friends.  Not college friends or high school friends, but actual people you meet as an adult and do things like have dinner and grab lunch and talk about work.  It's kind of weird, but you're pretty blessed to have people like Michelle and Greg around. 

The olden and golden friends haven't gone anywhere either.  Zanna is still your BFF.  You still hang out in Dallas on long weekends when you can.  In fact, SG is getting MARRIED to Alexander in May (I know, I know, it's about time), and you're in the wedding! 

So hang on, kiddo.  You're in for a wild ride.  It's a good one, and well worth the struggle. 

Your, uh, self,

Little Miss Sunshine

*image from http://www.mytypewriter.com/