>I can’t tell you about my day. I’ve tried and tried, but it just comes out sounding whiny and petulant. Instead, I’ll tell you about the trivial items: the things that don’t matter, or shouldn’t matter.

Random act of kindness: I found the copy machine in mid-job running packets for someone and out of paper. I refilled it, let the packets finish, and then did my copying. And then – I left my book in the copy room. Urgh.

Lunch time entertainment: third grader down the hall who doesn’t even know me came up, called me by name (teachers’ names are common knowledge), and showed me her loose tooth. “Look, I know it’s going to come out today!” Fifteen minutes later (on my way to the copy room), I saw her in the post-lunch line holding a little envelope and sporting a huge grin. She was right; the wiggly tooth had only lasted a few more minutes!

Two kiddos got sick within minutes of each other this morning. The first came back after having her temp taken, but felt a little under the weather all day. The second went home looking flushed and feeling feverish. Fifth Disease is running through the school; I wonder if she had/has it. It’s highly contagious, so I might be next. Flu? Who needs it? We have plenty of viruses in our own without letting any flying piggies in.

I made myself coffee (saves me money; I do this a lot) and brought it to school in a small thermos. It’s the perfect size – about two mugs of decent coffee. Then I left the thermos at school. Sigh; I can use my backup insulated mug. I just don’t want to carry both home tomorrow after school.

Amigo’s Concert Attire is due tomorrow. He’ll have to dress casual/dressy for the final concert in another week. Will he know how? We’ll see. Could be fun! I always enjoy his concerts.

And finally, last but never least, I planted zucchini squash after school. Beans, peas, and squash are now in. Rain? Bring it on!

>I heard bad news from a teacher friend recently; she’s discouraged and depressed with her field of work and looking to make a new career start. I don’t know where she’s going, but it’ll be a great loss to her coworkers and students.

She turned up in my dreams last night, and I must email her about it. I don’t remember the entire dream (I should have written it down right away!), but I remember her convincing me to buy sturdy but fashionable boots with a small heel rather than white patent leather ballet flats. As we packed up to travel (where were we going? I don’t think I knew), she reminded me to leave a stack of old wicker baskets and other bulky excess baggage behind.

I see meaning in this already. Like my friend, I’ve experienced a very discouraging year of teaching. Lack of administrative support, poor or non-existent communication, failure to respect the classroom teacher’s workload, and more, have led to an outrageous level of emotional wear and tear. It’s the kind of year that leads teachers to joke about installing a Prozac Salt Lick in the lounge. Beneath the joke, however, is the reality that our work is challenging, demanding, and often depressing.

The shoes – why were we shoe shopping together? Is there meaning in that, too? I was admiring a tiny, shiny pair of white patent leather flats that looked great on my feet when I heard her voice reminding me that this wasn’t what I was shopping for. Dressy and impractical shoes wouldn’t carry me where I was going. The boots, however, were attractive, sturdy leather, and strong. They would support my feet and ankles walking on an airport concourse or riding a motorcycle. These classy boots were a worthwhile investment in fashion and in my own health.

The baskets were used, in excellent shape, but of limited use. I could see myself in this scene easily. I’m a scavenger, spending pennies on second-hand items or picking up freebies and donations for use in my classroom. Maybe this scene has less to do with eliminating excess emotional baggage in my career and more to do with focus on the economic situation. It’s possible that the message is actually this: beware of being pennywise and pound foolish.

In any case, I’m sad to hear she’s leaving the field of education. She’s brilliant, caring, and practical. When we worked together, our strengths complimented each others for the benefit of the students we served. Those children grew emotionally and academically in our care. We knew it, and we felt good about it. Now we’re both experiencing the perfect storm of budget cuts, rising expectations, and poor public relations. Doing even more with even less is reaching an impossible level.

She’s leaving teaching. Maybe I should take her shoe shopping before she goes…

>It happens to the best of us. Work, work, think, think, inject passion and knowledge and experience into daily tasks and long-range pieces. When the graph diverges with the effort line rising and the results line falling, falling despite the best knowledge, falling despite doing everything possible and more, then the danger grows. The danger of professional burnout.

When the teacher looks at a student and says to herself, “This kid has emotional problems beyond my training. I need to get him some help,” and the help just isn’t there? Burnout.

When the teacher reads research and thinks, “We need to intervene now so this child doesn’t grow up to be a scary statistic,” but there’s no one to talk to? Burnout.

When teachers can point out the bullies in their own school, but their efforts to stop them are rarely supported, what happens? Burnout.

My solutions? I do what I can. I do my best. Maybe my best stinks sometimes, but if that’s the only intervention available, at least it’s something.

I teach social skills to kids on both sides of the issues: the bullies and the victims. I teach the victims how to change their behavior when it draws negative attention to them. I teach the bullies that there is no tolerance for picking on another student. I catch as many misbehaviors as possible and stop them. I write up discipline referrals for those who go above and beyond the average everyday consequences.

Last time school was feeling inhospitable, I sat down at my computer and completed building plans for two kids. Working through the process reminded me that I know my students and know what they need. These plans will help them next year.

And then I go home. And I lay my head on the counter as the coffee reheats, doing my best to leave the day behind. Doing my best to remember that I’ve done my best, really.

And if I’m lucky, I’ll sleep. And I’ll wake up the next weekday to light my candle again, hope it won’t burn on both ends because I’m running out of strategies to put it out before it’s gone.