Will You Allow Me to Vent for A Minute?

Just because I like my job, does that mean it's not a real job?
Just because I have fun at my job, does that mean it isn't real work?
Just because I teach kids to paint and use clay, does that mean I don't have real responsibilities?
Just because I "play" with kids all day, does that mean my job isn't really important?
Just because I have conversations at work about striped ducks, does that mean my job isn't serious?
Just because I'm happy with my job, does that mean it doesn't matter?
Just because I don't suffer at my job, does that mean I don't contribute?
If you prick me, do I not bleed?

Er... never mind that last one, but...

Apparently, because I have chosen a career path that makes me happy and is satisfyingly fulfilling in all its fun, imaginative and creative ways, and because I do not make as much money, my job does not have the same value as real jobs in real, professional fields. And to this, I ask...

Just because you made bad decisions in your life and with your career choices, does that mean I have to be punished for mine?

"It'll Get Easier"

For two weeks now I've been hearing this phrase repeated to me over and over again, "It'll get easier." But you know what, it hasn't. It hasn't gotten any easier leaving my little girl with someone else to care for for the day while I go off to work. My heart breaks every morning. And every day we spend apart, I wonder if it's worth it. I know it's only for three days out of the week, but those three days are painful. Yes, I still enjoy teaching. Yes, there are moments when I'm glad to be back in the classroom. Yes, there are even times when I'm so preoccupied that I don't think of my little love bug. But it doesn't mean it's any easier. Yes, I know it's only been two weeks, but do I even want it to get easier? I don't think that I want to get to the point where it becomes easy to leave my bug with another. My baby is my world. In my mind, there is nothing else I have to do that is more important than caring for my child. Except we need the paycheck.

My daycare provider says she greatly admires working mothers. She believes they're stronger than she is herself. She tried returning to work after her little guy was born (he's almost 2 years now) and only made it a week and a half before she quit. And she had left her boy with his daddy and grandmother! On the other hand, she claims there are days she would give anything to go to work now and have her husband stay home. Even if just for one day.

I don't know, maybe it will get easier. Maybe I'll start looking at my days at work as rewarding, fulfilling and welcomed again, instead of just seeing them as a chore taking me away from my real job. I count down the hours, the minutes, until I can leave my classroom. Never have I left my job on time before, but I can't imagine spending any extra time away from my love bug. I rush out the door and can't get to daycare quick enough, while in my mind I'm screaming, "Baby! Baby! Baby! Baby! I must have my baby!" And as I sweep her up in my arms, I imagine my Sweet A has been screaming something similar, "Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! I must have my mommy!" Although, after a day of unsatisfying bottles, I'm sure it's more like, "Boobs! Boobs! Boobs! Boobs! I must have my boobs!"

Hey. Hey, you! Yeah, you...

    
What color are my pants?

Co-worker: A beautiful chocolate brown.

Hmmm...

6th grade student: Brown-ish, purple-ish.

Okay...

Other 6th grade student: Brown.

Uh-huh...

Mr. ATHG: What're you asking me for? I'm color blind.

 Whoops! And here I thought they were dark grey when I bought them. I sure hope no one saw my socks.