Sometimes, we have to take care of each other. Sometimes, it’s hard knowing what to do.
My job forces me to practice empathy each and every
day. I’m glad it does – keeps me
human. As frustrating as it can be when
you just don’t believe someone’s sob story, I still need to care for and about
the individual. That person still has a
story. I almost never feel taken
advantage of and appreciate having avenues to understand individuals for who
they are and what they bring.
I inherently get it that
people need compassion and need a community.
I always want to be part of that conversation, no matter what. And…yet.
I have this thing about being “that parent.” I don’t want to be “that parent.” It
takes me 15 minutes to write a few sentences to a teacher to give a heads up
about my kid feeling her feels because it feels like an imposition to the
teacher who I KNOW has ever so much to keep track of.
My child deserves it.
Absolutely. My child’s teacher
needs to hear about those few times when the feelings are big and when I know
that a quick check-in would do loads of good for her ability to trust her adult
and to focus.
Yet…hmm. It’s a weird
feeling for me to be on the other side of the conversation. I doubt I’ll ever be quite right in that head
space, but I’ll still speak up when I would
appreciate having the communication shared with me were I in that other teacher’s
place.
People. Parents who
are teachers are generally either the worst or entirely silent. I don’t want to be either, so this Type A extroverted
introvert will just have to keep at it.
Bless.
Meanwhile, there's been loads of fun baseball in my day-to-day life and some fun books. I'm f-u-l-l-y onboard the Louise Penny Three Pines mysteries train. Inspector Gamache is my book crush right now. AND THEY ARE ALWAYS EATING DELICIOUS FRENCH FOOD. It makes me want to visit Montreal post haste and eat and read books in a cafe while eating French food in Montreal. (Read them in order, good interwebby people.)
I ended last week with an afternoon coffee shop date with the Elder, a card game, and a French soda. I know there's more of this coming, but I need her to talk with me and if that means we get the whipped cream and pass a drink back and forth, then it shall be so. Gamache would approve.
Also, there is a small frog clinging to the window right
now. They are adorable and show up in
squished places occasionally. Our previous
house had slugs; I choose this.
