I gave my exam on Friday: three hours (with a break at the mid-point); three subjects (English, Bible, history), plus the music and art appreciation that are essential to the course; twenty students; 185 points worth of multiple choice, matching, short answers and an essay.
And that was it. We’re done for the semester.
Of course the students had two more days’ worth of exams: Monday and Tuesday. But they would be occupied with other teachers those days. They would be taking other exams and preparing for other exams. They Would Not Need Me.
And so my boss John gave me his blessing to Stay Home. We agreed that I’d be more likely to get my work done off-campus, without the nearly-guaranteed interruptions and distractions at the school. Yes, he said in a Most Welcome e-mail. Yes! Go for it!
So I did.
It felt different all weekend knowing that, on this Monday, I would not have to teach. No. Nor would I have to teach on Tuesday, or Wednesday, or, indeed, Any Day until January 3rd rolled around. And it’s not that I don’t love teaching, but it is that teaching and the pressure to be prepared for it and the pressure to do it give the week days (and, in all honesty the weekends) a different weight than when you’re on, say, Christmas break.
So on Monday morning, Bill took the children to school and I Stayed Home. And on Tuesday morning, Bill took the children to school and I Stayed Home.
I was busy– make no mistake. I had those exams to grade, after all, not to mention some Pretty Major research papers on Athens and Sparta. Yes, there is No Doubt that I have some Serious Grading to do these days.
But I was at Home. And I was All Alone. I drank coffee, and I read essays, and I listened to The Messiah, and No One needed me for anything, and No One asked me for anything, and if I put a load of laundry in the washer, it was because I wanted to, and if I cleaned the bathroom, it was because I wanted to, and No One asked to show me something or tell me something or ask me something and I was All All All All Alone.
My mother and my aunt– my role-models for all things maternal (and other things, too), were stay-at-home moms. They sent their children to public schools and so had their days to themselves, days that were occupied, somewhat, at least, with laundry and bathroom cleaning and this kind of thing. They did not homeschool.
I have to admit to having had a secret hope: I always hoped that I would have a window of One Year during which time I would neither be homeschooling, teaching, nor taking classes in graduate school. I wanted One Year Off.
I didn’t get that. Instead I got returning to full-time work when my children went to school while still working on my Master’s thesis. And that’s okay. It really is.
But on Monday and Tuesday afternoons, when I went to the school to get my children, I just pretended, in my mind, just a little bit, that I hadn’t spent the majority of my day grading essays, that I didn’t have a full-time job, that I was just a Normal Mother, heading over to the school to pick up my children after their busy day.
I liked that.
