"Every day, once a day, give yourself a present. Don’t plan it, don’t wait for it, just let it happen.” -- Dale Cooper, Twin Peaks
The second week back at school in January went considerably better than the first, possibly because I took Thursday off to do massive amounts of grading that I just can’t do at ten o’clock on weeknights. It is much nicer to spend hours writing comments all over student papers when I can do it in relative solitude and treat myself to coffee and lunch, as opposed to trying to get through as many as I can after my kids are finally sleeping but before I collapse myself.
I’ve been planning to take a day off for awhile now; would you believe I haven’t missed a single day yet this year? My children’s immune systems seem to have reached the point where they’re really toughened up now, and I haven’t been sick with more than a cold in a year. Since I’ve had children I’ve had to use all of my days off to stay home with them when they get their fevers and their ear infections and their coughs and their stomach bugs; the idea of using one myself, when I wasn’t even sick, took some getting used to. But I’m always telling my friends to take care of themselves, so maybe it’s time to work on being a better friend to myself and stop feeling so stupidly guilty about it.
(Sometimes it’s so hard to be your own friend. Why is that?)
My ideal mental health day would most assuredly not have included spending hours grading, but I didn’t have the time to wait around for that ideal day. I needed this day, and these papers needed to be graded and handed back before the next onslaught of papers. I was relentlessly determined to enjoy my day anyway, and I absolutely did. I spent a few hours drinking coffee and alternating between grading and people-watching and reading a few pages of Eleanor and Park; I wandered through a cute little bookstore but managed not to buy anything this time; I took myself out for lunch where I sat in a cozy booth and ate tofu tacos and read more of my book. Back at home, I managed to squeeze in a run in the damp January air before I had to pick up Suzannah at school. All things considered, it was a lovely day, and the fact that I could carve out a few hours of my own quiet space felt like such a gift. And coming back on a Friday, relatively refreshed before a three-day-weekend, meant that I could handle my toughest kids with perhaps slightly more grace than usual, even when they complained their faces off about the sub I’d requested. (I always request her first because she’s great; she’s a retired teacher who can handle all the antics in my seventh period. And do it while knitting.)
“She’s the worst person we’ve ever met,” they informed me. I tried to explain that I gave not the tiniest of craps about their feelings for the sub; they continued to insist that they were forever traumatized by how mean she was. I was like, You all probably say the same thing about me every single day, I do not caaaaaare. And one boy, whom I occasionally love but mostly want to punch every day, said, “Naw, naw, you’re a good teacher! We just don’t listen a lot.”
...thanks?
Tomorrow I’ll be wearing my Seahawks shirt, the one Suzannah picked out for me. My daughter, it seems, is turning into a football fan, and I’m grateful she has her Grandpa Chuck and Uncle Aaron to share in this new interest because her father and I are zero help here. But! For the first time in the history of ever, I am vaguely aware of a very important game that is not the Super Bowl, because we are all just going crazy for the Seahawks out here. Last weekend I even checked the score a few times when the Seahawks played the Saints (I even knew who the other team was! The only other time that happened was when the Seahawks played the 49ers, and the only reason I was aware of that is because my student teacher is a 49ers fan, and this year I have learned that’s very, very bad) -- I didn’t actually watch the game, because I don’t...do that. But it’s hard not to get a little caught up in the fervor when you’re just driving your kid to school in the morning and you see Seahawks flags on every fourth house.
Was it like this the last time the Seahawks made it to the Super Bowl? I have no idea. I do remember the year, because I was very pregnant and I was invited to a Super Bowl party and I think people were excited, but I’m pretty sure I watched about zero percent of the game and spent the afternoon feeding artichoke dip and most of a party platter to my fetus. I quite enjoy Super Bowl parties, but I’ll be honest, I go for the snacks. I’m the one who walks in and goes, “So, who’s playing?” I’m fairly sure I remember calling my dad when my brother invited us over to watch the game at his place (one or two years, at least) and saying, “Wow, quite a game, huh?” And my dad said, “Do you even know who’s playing?” And I was all, “That...one team, and the other guys."
But the Seahawks might play this year. I hope they do, because a lot of people I like seem to be really excited about this, and I look good in blue, which is as good a reason as any to choose a football team, right? Also, last Friday I wore my shirt to school and announced proudly to my classes that it was my very first Seahawks shirt, a bunch of them seemed super proud of me. There. That will turn me into a Seahawks fan. A Seahawks fan who still prays that her son never, ever wants to play football.
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