Tuesday, October 25, 2016

The Most Bitter Pill

This post is not about art, or even (really) about teaching.  If that's what you came here looking for today, I'm sorry, and I promise I'll get right back to what this blog is supposed to be about on the next post.  
Today I'm writing about something that so very hard.  If you're a teacher, and you love working with kids every single day, seeing them mistreated is rough.  Seeing their needs not being met (any of them--physical, emotional, educational) is hard.  But all of that while you yourself are struggling with infertility or infant loss is like a real kick in the face.  Even though I have two adorable and wonderful little people at my house, I still miss and mourn those that aren't here.  I hate that visiting the cemetery is part of my kids 'normal'.  And by golly I hate seeing parents take their own kids for granted.  I can logically understand that I'm only seeing a tiny little snapshot of their lives, but don't they know how lucky they are?  When they've got the number of kids I feel I'm 'supposed to' have, why aren't they thrilled?  Why do they have to yell and scream? Why do kids come to school with dirty clothes and unbrushed hair when all I want it to have more little clothes to wash and hair to comb at my house?
So if you teach classes some times with a lump in your throat or have to blink away tears, I get it, and I'm so very sorry that we're in this club.  I wish I could tell you that it'll get better, but I don't know that.  I only know that you're not alone, I'm not alone, and we're all here to make our corner of the world a little better. Even when it feels so very unfair.  Chins up and on to another day of art teaching.

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