"you teach best what you most need to learn"

One week ago today, I was told that my position at the school was not secure. Gargantuan budget cuts are predicted and everyone hired in 2008 by the Department of Education is getting sacked. I do not yet have the pink slip in my hand, but as of June 15 I may, and it does not look good.

I have been thinking about this every second. When I hit snooze, in the shower, on my commute, while wrangling 22 children all day, sitting in my classroom surrounded by paperwork, when I come home and spend the next four hours online, and finally staring at the ceiling at night while the alarm clock stares at me.

On so many levels, this is an atrocity. I have ten years of experience, I spend weekends working, ten and twelve hour days, emails, phone calls with worried parents, projects, committees. I scrub out the sink in my classroom, gently comfort a child with a sore throat, toss bandaids at 5 papercuts a day, spend weeks in the summer working on professional development, plan with colleagues, stack report cards in my purse to work on later at barbeques or superbowl parties, think about better ways to differentiate fucking math games, celebrate small moments, cheer on the little guy, literally. Every day.

Two years ago, I moved my books and baskets and puzzles and files into this classroom. It's always an adjustment, but PS321 is a rigorous school with high expectations for students and even higher expectations for teachers. It is known that you will work until 7:00 almost every night during your first year, a fact. I learned the ropes, politely smiling and nodding and working my ass off, then realizing what I know already and making a name for myself. Now, the thought of packing up my rubber tubs, renting a u-haul and moving to another space in order to start all over again makes me want to throw up all over Michael Bloomberg.

So do I toss in the sponge and admit defeat? Can I finally have a job that doesn't involve saying the phrase "you need to use a tissue instead of your finger" or "criss-cross applesauce"?? Can I stay up past 10:30 without guilt and be cheerful during the month of September, once again? Can I go on vacation in January, just for the hell of it, and actually check email between 8:30 and 3:00? What happens if I find out that drinking coffee at my desk and talking to grown-ups and refraining from singing instructions to people is boring and unfulfilling? I may find out June 15.

swimmy

I am the hater of all things bathing suit. I hate wearing them, I hate being seen in them, I hate thinking about them. Bathing suits. In the faraway past, I would cover myself head to toe, persistently pale and liking it. My first foray into lap swimming came when I joined the YMCA in chicago in 2003. I would leave school, head to the y, don a pair of surf shorts, a bikini halter-top, goggles and flip-flops and join the other mid-day swimmers in a sort of splashy waste of time. This was also a time when I refused to shave. Imagine for a moment.

I am also the hater of jogging. Sweaty, slamming feet on pavement, breathless. It has always been incredibly boring and painful to run. The whole idea seems ridiculous.

But now I'm 35 and I can't burn calories by jumping up and down in anticipation of frozen waffles anymore. I need to exercise. I decided I would try and swim again. Real swimming in a tight, smooth, black one-piece and a red swim cap; lap swimming for longer than 10 minutes. So my friend, Joanna, and I get up at 5:30 in the morning and walk the 1.2 miles to the YMCA and swim.

I usually feel like I'm going to barf or die or drown during the first ten minutes...like I have made no progress at all. But I keep counting and going and breathing and swimming until it begins to feel great, like I shouldn't stop. There's the regulars like back hair, hard kicker, and slo-mo in the medium-lane. There are also hard core fast-lane bros; all serious, wearing waterproof watches. There's the old guy in the slow-lane who swims underwater all of the way across the pool without coming up for air and the other slow-laner who wears flippers on her hands and plops her way across the pool like a little kid. Then there's me...sometimes forgetting to shave, sometimes quitting after 32 laps instead of 46...wondering what my nickname is.

Sometimes the kids in my class tell me that they can smell the chlorine on my skin. I am amazed that I drag myself out of bed so early, that I love the routine so much. One day when I missed my chance to swim, I felt crappy all day and I told my class why. Noah, my sweet, thoughtful student said, "I'm sorry you missed your pool party, Kim."