Puddle Jumping No. 7

Puddle Jumping No. 7
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Tuesdays are the longest days. Well into the week with no hope for Saturday, the tantrums, spills, and shrill cries weigh heavy on my patience. With a pat on her mattress, my little girl says "mama," asking me to lay with her like she does each night. Of course I do. Nothing can keep me from her sweet snuggles. She turns her head toward mine, uncurls one finger from her fist, and places a warm finger on my mouth. "Boca." Giggling, she pats my head. "Cabeza." After naming each part of my face, she grabs hold of my fingers. "Di-gi Di-gi." I laugh, knowing I taught her that one wrong. 

When I finally make my way to plop onto the couch or to clean up the dishes, I think of all the teachers just opening their laptops to write a new lesson or grade a stack of papers. That was my life for so long and a part of my past I don't miss. 

Being a mom so closely echoes many sentiments I felt as a teacher. The work never ends. Does anyone notice how hard this is? Am I even making a difference? Yes, yes, and yes! Each time I see those big brown eyes, her sassy pigtails, or her chubby thighs bouncing down the hall, I am reminded of my purpose. I have taught her everything she knows, and she has become a reflection of our time together. 

After two pregnancies, my hormones are permanently deranged. I can tear up watching a Dos Equis commercial. So when I stumbled upon "Puddle Jumping No. 7," you can imagine the ugly crying that ensued. I have always loved the rain. Something about how it's supposed to be dreary but always brings life makes me renewed. Teaching, like motherhood, can be a lot of downpour and puddles: long days, crooked attitudes, that moment you never saw coming... Yet when your clothes are drenched, your hair limp and wet, a child can change it all. The drops coming down aren't muddled in filth but glistening in rainbow. 

One day when my daughter is grown, she will call me in tears. Overworked, underpaid, under appreciated. I will wrap up "Puddle Jumping No. 7" and place it in her hands. She will get through even the longest of days knowing the joy in the struggle.