It’s a tumble-onto-bed, asleep-before-you-fall kind of Friday night.
I got home from having a singular adult beverage with my team by 6 PM. I sat down on my bed at 6:05, and at 7 I opened my eyes, astonished that, at some point, I must have closed them.
It’s not that I worked so very hard this week, or that I feel unusually stressed. It’s not that I was shocked, shocked I tell you to find poor behavior in the fourth-to-last week of school.
In fact, with a day of professional development, I only spent four of five days with my precious angels this week.
But still, I’m tired down to my phalanges. My distal tibia is tired and so is my proximal radius. If I were a camel, my crazy branching metapodials would be tired too. I’m so tired that I’m reverting to college… I can see myself in a basement lab with buckets of bovid bones, sorting for age biases in the sample of my thesis… I can smell the wet lab down the hall which must be doing freezer inventory…
Oops, sorry, stepped into an alternate universe there.
There are a lot of reasons to be tired at the end of the school year, but here is mine. There is a part of me (a very tiny part, and if you ask me about it, I’ll deny it) that is frustrated that it’s ending. Frustrated because I feel like I am JUST NOW starting to understand my kids, and JUST NOW starting to see what they need, and JUST NOW starting to figure out how to make it happen.
All of this is well and good, because we can hope that I have learned my lessons for next year’s batch of wide eyed sixth graders. But it doesn’t change the fact that tonight I’m tired from slamming the brakes on this beyond control, helter-skelter school year as I try for three more weeks to get it at least a little bit right.