on holding on.

Flight cancelled.  Awesome.  Seconds later, sarcasm turned into tears. Hearing my husband’s voice on the other end of the phone just cut deeper.  Shuffling back through passport security...

“Oh sweetheart, do not cry.  It be ok. Come wit me.  I take care of you.”

The sympathetic airline worker sensed that the mother traveling solo with her one-and-a-half year old overseas could use a kind gesture.  Okay Berlin, what now?

There I was.  Left hand on the mega-stroller.  Baby strapped to my chest.  Backpack full of now-spoiled Frozen themed organic yogurt and just enough food and entertainment for our supposed 10-12 hour commute back to New Orleans.

Exactly fifty pounds of suitcase pulled behind me by, no not anything other than my reliable right hand.  

Amidst the dehydration and regretful experience of changing my kid’s diaper on an airport bathroom floor, (the old German lady just had to mom-shame me..in German...thanks), some good ‘ol cliches began to run through my head…

This too shall pass.

It’s always worse when you’re in it.”

It could be worse.

One cancellation, one delay and one misassigned baby later (yeah, the airline mistakenly assigned my daughter to another woman causing us to miss our new flight), we found ourselves in Frankfurt.  

This is a joke, right?  I could feel panic set in.  

“Yes, officer.  This is my daughter.  She has a passport but I don’t carry her birth certificate.”

All I want is to go home.  Why can’t we just go home?

I rummaged through my exploded backpack and offered whatever personal identification would shut up his tough guy smirk.

“Ok.”  He waved us through.   

 

Insert sweat-framed eye roll.  Taking a light jog to our gate with a too tangled baby carrier and  twenty pounds in arms now, fearful of a missed connection, people began to stare.  

Tears poured and delirium set in.  The flat escalator type airport moving things were broken.  I couldn’t catch my breath and the Happy Baby Puffs  were long burned from my body.  

The silver lining was the upgraded flight from Frankfurt to Chicago.  Nine hours in first class wasn’t too shabby.  If only they had deodorant in the hotel-grade airplane bathroom.  

Blessed with free alcohol and fancy food for me, my daughter still hadn’t thrown a fit since leaving Berlin. Maybe it was all of the gummy bears the flight attendant was feeding her.

Eighteen hours later, after an overnight in a Chicago airport hotel and a turbulent flight to New Orleans, we were finally home.  

The experience felt like a cruel joke, but really wasn’t that big of a deal in the end.  We were safe.  My daughter was nothing less than a goofy little angel who seemed to know when I needed a cheek full of kisses and planted them so sweetly right before my many almost meltdowns.    

Like most people, I’ve faced dark times, good times and everything in-between.  In the teacher tunnel of darkness, though losing complete control of my classroom or being screamed at by an angry parent is awful, it doesn’t ever compare to some of my worst life moments.  

Then there are so many special teaching moments.  Like witnessing that time when you, very likely, heard your student read their first full page in a chapter book.  Ever. Right before your eyes!  It feels like it doesn’t get better than that!  

The good and the bad are very real, and as teachers, it can feel realer than real.  

In the end, though, it’s just a job.  A job with the weight of twenty-eight futures riding your shoulders, and unconditional care for all twenty-eight of them, but still just a job.

Teaching is IN my heart, but my daughter IS my heart.

 In those moments where I throw my hands up and surrender to classroom chaos and failed lessons, I remember that what I do is not who I am.  This may not be true for all educators, and honestly, I might’ve gasped at this declaration ten years ago, but it’s my truth.  

Each year I fall in love with my new set of students.  I put all that I can into hopefully inspiring, encouraging and pushing them to be learners for life.  Recognizing that some moments are heaven and some are hell, reminds me that the extremes of teaching are so for real.  

And everything’s gonna be alright.  

Dare my husband ever call me dramatic, my sharp eyes will hiss at him faster than he can rephrase his comment, but I’m allowed to tell myself in my worst moments, “Don’t be so dramatic.”  Again, only I can tell myself that.  Beware.  

But really, in retrospect, our meltdowns can seem dramatic no matter how real they are in the moment.  My nightmarish flight episodes still brought us home safe.

In the end, the big stuff is what really counts.  Happiness and health for family, friends and loved ones.   

So as we reflect this summer and push out any pre-anxieties of crazy bad work days, just have faith that the cliches will get you through.  

I hope you’re breathing in your sweet summer moments.  Power to the teacher.