So…I’ve been soul searching (and, no, I haven’t found any yet).

For me, matters of the heart/soul/mind require quiet contemplation. It’s not that I don’t confide…it’s more that I wait until I have most of the pieces figured out before I let anyone else in to help. This drives Andrew crazy, by the way.

I tell you this not because I’ve figured everything out, but to explain my silence here. I have been cooking. I’ve been trying new recipes and perfecting old ones. I’ve even been taking photographs to share them with you. I just didn’t feel like I had anything to say. Which is kind of a problem if you’re a blogger.
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While in the check out line yesterday, the clerk somehow thought it appropriate to ask me what I do for a living.

Does anyone else find that question rude?
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It’s probably the most divisive issue for food lovers – cilantro.

For cilantro haters, the answer to this question is of supreme importance. If you hate cilantro, you’re on their side. You have a sophisticated palate. You are a super taster (more on that later). You can join their elite club (no, really).

If you love cilantro? Well, there must be something wrong with you. Prepare to be judged. Apparently you know absolutely nothing about real food. I mean, you call yourself a foodie? And you like something that tastes like soap? C’mon…step aside for the elite foodies of the world – the cilantro haters who, channeling Julia Child, will pick it off and throw it on the floor.

It’s ridiculous.
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Things I miss about teaching – (bear with me for a second…)

Reading Matilda and Because of Winn Dixie. Though there were plenty of other books I read aloud, these were the only two I read to every single class I taught – grades 2 through 5. They were both so special and so integral to building community for very different reasons. The very best thing that came from reading them, other than sharing a story together, was the common language it created for us. Instead of just saying ’she was really strict’, we’d say ’she was a Trunchbull’. Instead of saying ’she feels sad’, we’d say ’she feels the way Opal does about her mom’. I miss that.

Home visits. I miss my students’ excited faces when they saw me driving through their neighborhoods or sitting at their kitchen tables. I loved seeing books on their floors and awards I’d given them tacked to their walls. I loved the stories parents told me in the comfort of their homes (far less restrictive than those kid-sized plastic chairs at school). I miss getting to know families and feeling like I’m a special part of their children’s life.

Morning meetings. I miss having rich conversations with my students – acknowledging that they (and I) had more going on in life than the experiences within our four walls each day. We dealt with some big ticket items, sitting in that circle each morning. It was pretty amazing what they saw, what they thought, how they felt. You think they’re just kids – and they are – but they understand and internalize so much more than the adults around them think. Having those talks was mindblowing. And, it was necessary. Once we addressed those most important things, we could start our day.

Studies. I LOVED delving into a topic with a group of students. Every year, it was something slightly different. Each group had different interests and there were different things going on in the world so each year led us in a different direction. At the start of every study, I always thought I was more excited than the kids about the topic. But somewhere along the line, they always ended up diving in headfirst. I miss their excitement.

Obviously, the list of things I DON’T miss far outweighs the things I do. Otherwise, I’d still be teaching. One of the things I absolutely DO NOT (not even a little bit) miss is the last day of school. It’s true that by the end of the year, I was exhausted from packing a class, doing loads of paperwork, dealing with 22 anxious and excited children and planning fun things to celebrate and reward them for a good year. Despite that, I was never ready for the sadness of the last day.

There’s just something horrible about it if you consider the logistics. You put 22 children in the hands of a caring, affectionate teacher for 9 months. She sees them for 7-8 hours, 5 days a week. She listens to them, she teaches them, she consoles them and disciplines them. She puts band-aids on their wounds and serves cupcakes for their birthdays. And then, on the last day of school, she says goodbye. It’s heartbreaking.

I was never good at those goodbyes. Sure, I got to see my students the next year. And, I got a whole new batch of kids to start over with (another thing I DON’T miss about teaching). It never got easier though.

You might think I allowed myself to get too attached or care too much and you’d be right. I never learned to separate – I never learned to care my utmost during the day and then leave it in my classroom before going home at night. Of course this was never to the detriment of my students or their academic well-being. But my well-being? Well, that’s one of the reasons I’m no longer a teacher.
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It was a three-chile-relleno kind of week.

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