There were so many years where I was exhausted from the playdates, snack making, craft hosting…being the “Science” mom, making sure I was at school at exactly 10:14 am with camera in hand…to watch the 5 minute Halloween parade and then participate in the party. The Christmas gifts that were usually some styrofoam cup plastered with glitter, pom poms and googly eyes…The weekends, scrambling to produce dioramas from books not yet finished….Studying for tests on the American Revolution and creating “This is ME!” posters while trying to keep little minds from wandering or becoming too frustrated to finished their work.
I wished for them to grow up.
Be careful what you wish for. The older one can’t sit with his old parents long enough to watch a movie and the younger one…well, you know the younger one. They hang out with their friends, play Dungeons and Dragons, order pizzas, and go to rock concerts until 1 am. As many times as I ask, “Do you need help?”, “A snack?”, “A snuggle?”, “A bandaid?”, “Do your friends want me to make cookies?”, The answer is more times than not, “No, thanks, Mom.”
I should be happy. But I’m not.
Now what? My friend suggested I teach. I was petrified. All these tiny little creatures waiting for me to lead them in the daily word, the weather and snack time.
For a creative human, for a mom missing those diorama days, and reading “Walter the Farting Dog” to a bunch of 7 year old boys, elementary school is a drug. It’s like being a super hero or a grandma. I get a call for help at 6:45 am. By 7:30, I’m on the bus, heading towards school and who know what. Every day is magic. I could be helping a 3rd grader find that reading out loud is actually fun and not a horrible chore. We lay on the carpet and crawl around while taking turns with the book. There are plays to be acted out, posters to be created and cities to be built and managed in SIMcity and so much more….
These little humans are curious and happy and enthusiastic. They laugh and talk in so many different languages, it sounds like music. There are blondes, dark and exotic looking beauties, freckles and red hair and everything in between. Little groups pass me in the hall and squeal, “Hi Miss Lisa!!”
The days fly by…it amazes me how many different learning levels there are – and the teachers are patient with all their kids. No matter the subject, no matter how many times they have to repeat what they are teaching…it’s all about the process of learning…and it is fascinating.
Suddenly, I’m back on the bus towards home…feeling like everyone had a good day. The teaching is mutual. I get the drug – the undivided attention of little humans- I get to read, create posters, challenge and listen. And the children teach me something, too. They teach me that you are never too old to learn, and be enthusiastic over something you have done a hundred times…and curious, and positive and happy. Simple lessons I sometimes forget unless I’ve been at the International School. 
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