In My Education Era

I don't even know how it happened, really.

It was perhaps more than a year in the making, if I'm honest, with a friend I'd met nearly a decade prior when we were both room moms for the same Kindergarten class at the onset.

Last school year, she told me she was going back to work as a teacher aide. We'd both been at home with our babies for about 15 years - often commiserating about school germs, cranky teachers, and the number of lunches we had left to pack each June. 

It shouldn't have mattered that she was going back to work. She wasn't even a talk-all-the-time friend. But it poked at something within me.

It wasn't about her having a job. It was about the job.

She was about to do what I'd always planned to do when I was ready to work again. 

Teacher aides come and go in all of our schools all the time - but knowing someone well enough and watching them step into the role that was always my "someday, I'll probably do this when the kids are bigger" scenario flipped a switch somewhere in the deep recesses of my brain. I'm not even sure I knew it happened. 

But suddenly, every time I went to a class party or was offered a chance to volunteer at school, I had that wistful feeling. The, "ugh, I should have finished this" feeling. 

"Finished this" as in my teaching degree and certifications.

Because school was in my bones.

Funnily enough, not so much as a student. I was an awful student. I hung in there - I made it through. But I scoffed at homework, rarely studied on purpose, and often spent lessons looking around my classroom and dreaming up ways I'd decorate it better or make the lesson at hand more fun. I'd go home and scribble out lesson plans for the "right" way to teach what I should have been learning that day rather than caring about whether or not I'd actually learned anything. (Ridiculous.) 

I would pull out pages from half-used workbooks and ask my mom to make copies of them at work so I could get the experience of passing out worksheets to my stuffed animals. I'd force my sisters to take tests and do homework - always, always, forcing them to be my students and never relenting at their requests to be the teacher. I was thrilled to be the one to wield a red pen and give out gold stars.

Teaching was in my bones.

Once that light switch was turned back on - which, I guess I'd turned off circa 2006 when I finished my initial degrees and decided that starting a family was more important - that teaching gene or bug or whatever it was (I kind of like the idea of picturing a little imp, or something - haha) would start jumping around and poking me in the head and saying things like "Change your mind, do this. Let's teach."

But I mostly ignored it. Because, no. I'd already decided it wasn't for me. I couldn't.

I was already "old". I wasn't 18 or 20 and I couldn't pull off a crop top and rolled-over sweatpants in the back of a big lecture hall. The ship had sailed.

And then, last spring, our district held a job fair and one of the roles they were highlighting was teaching assistants. I just so happened to hold a teaching assistant certification, and always assumed that was the job I'd pursue "someday". Being a job fair and all, I figured it was a pretty non-committal way to just see what was up. Ya know, for research purposes. Dipping my toe in the pool of education once again. I pulled out my old folder of certifications and resumes and told Matt I was thinking of going. 

And...he talked me out of it. I suggested I just take one of the sub positions, then. Flexibility, choices. 

Again, he thought it wasn't worth it. And who can blame him, really? The pay for education is atrocious. And to give up my time, which already seemed too limited, for a mentally and physically taxing role that doesn't even compensate you fairly - it did seem like an obvious no. It made too much logical sense. So I agreed. Back to the mom-grind I went. 

Last June, after a very busy month of being at school a lot (like, a lot-a lot)...the teacher I'd worked closely with all school year was retiring. She taught all 3 of my boys over the years, and it was a big deal. I threw her a surprise party. She gave me advice and encouraged me to look for a job in the school. She inspired the crap out of me, in short.

So I started looking into teaching assistant positions. Ya know, again - for research.

That research led me straight into a brick wall. Because despite obtaining a teaching assistant certification in New York State, our district apparently didn't consider me qualified for a teaching assistant position in New York State. 

Yes, it is ridiculous, and yes, it is not a sustainable standard in the middle of a growing teacher shortage. But when an education agency enacts its laws and standards, it's cut and dry. You have a specific certification, you get a specific contract - there's no wiggling, no negotiating, you are at the state's and district's mercy. The end.

I was kinda enraged, honestly.

So I pouted and I sulked and I said screw you guys, I'm going home in my best Cartman voice. I geared up to be the best darn gardening homemaker Etsy shop running millennial the world had ever seen come September. I was ready with my calendars and my schedules so I could tackle this whole "3 kids in 3 different schools with 3 very different schedules" thing with poise and grace and drive. What's meant to be will be, yeah?

The week before school started, I was in my basement, doing my seventh load of laundry to make sure my kids were fully ready for their first days in their new classes. I was in full messy bun and leggings, sweating while I worked in mom-mode. My phone buzzed, and I picked it up - grateful for a moment of distraction.

It was a message from my friend. The ex-co-room-mom. The teacher aide. The one that pulled my teaching imp out of hibernation.

She'd just gone to a pre-school-year meeting and got the news that they were short by 10 teacher aides to start the year. In some cases, it was at the level of a legal problem because there were kids with IEPs who legally had to be provided an aide. I'm not going to say she begged, because it's not her vibe, but she urgently let me know that they needed good people to help out and they would likely do anything I wanted in terms of a schedule. I was, after all, about to juggle 3 schools and the school she was asking me to join was not one of them. A fourth school! 

The pay situation still sucked. The chance of being assigned very stressful students was still there. Even with dictating my own schedule, was adding a fourth school to that situation even worth it? Especially since I wanted to be a TA, not an aide (which is different - one allows you to instruct, the other doesn't, and the former pays much more reasonably). 

She encouraged me to just send an email (YOU KNOW, for research purposes, NO BIG DEAL) to see what they'd say about the hours and roles I'd want. That seemed more exciting than moving another wet load of socks to the dryer, so I sat down and wrote an email. Practically shrugging the whole time. Real meh, whatever, we'll see vibes.

Later that day, I got a call from the assistant principal at the school. She wanted me to come in for an interview the very next morning. I think I was kind of out of my body when I agreed? I logically knew a time of day that I was available, but did I stop and think about what I was saying I was available to do? Like a whole job interview after fifteen years, in the field of my dreams??? Nope, didn't cross my mind, just looked at it like I signed up to get a flu shot. I did zero prep, other than making sure I had a dress that didn't make me look gross. I just thought...what's meant to be will be, and this probably isn't.

It was the day before my birthday. I wore a black dress. 

The assistant principal greeted me at the door, and we instantly realized we knew each other from our hometown. In fact, I'd dated her cousin for years, attended their family gatherings - she'd even been to my house. It was less interview than it was a high school reunion. I threw it out there that I only wanted to work 3 hours and I needed to leave by a certain time so that I could pick up my youngest son from school. Not even a blink - it went right on my paperwork. She told me the next steps, said she'd email me details and a schedule, and twenty minutes later I walked to my car with a job.

I remember getting back in the car and just sitting there...marveling that I had a job. At a school. How? I messaged my friend and told her I was her new co-worker, and she and I text-celebrated for a few minutes. I went on Instagram and said, "oopsie, I'm employed!" It was all so strange and quick and wild.

What's meant to be will be.

The next day was my birthday. The day after that, I had to rush out to first get fingerprinted for the FBI (crazypants) and then rush to a meeting at the district office to sign a mountain of paperwork for HR. They took my photo for a badge. They gave me credentials. My new boss sent me my schedule.

And less than a week after that sweaty laundry moment in the basement where I was settled in not having a job anytime soon, I was working.

And I freaking loved it.

Like, the kind of love it that I wake up in the morning so, so excited to get to school and see my kids. The kind of love it that I don't even think about my measly paychecks. The kind of love it that I'm not only never, ever late (for the first job in my entire life), I'm usually 5 or 10 minutes early. Sometimes 15.

The kind of love it where I decided to be a teacher.

Okay, so, there's like a whole part two to this story - I'm in my education era in more than one way and it's a whole other thing. A Chapter Two, really. 

So like, I don't know, take a bathroom break, grab a coffee, feed your cat. Do what you gotta do real quick, yeah? It's long, I know. 

I'll break it up for you:

Chapter Two

The one where I'm a whole 40-year-old college student.

Okay, I'm not, I'm 39. Close enough. The point is that I never thought I'd be a college student again, and yet...there I was.

It was probably the second week of the school year when I felt like I'd fully become the teaching imp. It was no longer just poking me and urging me: I was it. I lived and breathed the classrooms. I googled ideas to work with my kids, I watched endless YouTube videos about teaching - I even looked up materials that went along with the lessons the teachers were delivering in the classes I worked in. 

If you're unfamiliar with the role of a teacher aide, it's a support position rather than an instructional position. I'm not responsible for the delivery of any education, I'm responsible for helping students remove barriers to learning (like...distractions, disorganization, emotional regulation, etc.) because one teacher can't possibly do that effectively for every student at once. There are 1:1 aides, who are assigned to one student and for the most part, follow them around all day. And then there are shared aides, who bounce around to different students at different times in the subjects they've been deemed to need support in. I'm the second type of aide - the shared aide. So I work in a lot of different rooms with several different teachers and many kids of varying needs.

I LOVE what I do with my assigned kids, and in some of the classes I get to do things that are actually pretty darn instructional. I've proven myself with the teachers I'm assigned to, and they trust me to support their kiddos. So I often get my "teachery" fix despite my actual role really being more of a mother. (Which, is pretty great, honestly.)

But that imp, man - it wants more. It wants it all!

I made myself wait a bit before I did anything because...you know, the ADHD impulsivity thing is legit. I didn't want to get myself into some sort of wild commitment and then find out a couple weeks later that oops, I actually hate my job. Not that I expected to - just, it was early. So I, ya know...dabbled. Googled. Took notes. Looked into things. FOR RESEARCH PURPOSES.

I applied to a fully online bachelor's program in elementary education......yyyyya know, just to see. Juuuust to see. Would they take me? What would it cost? How long would it take? How many of my credits would transfer?

And oops, I accidentally enrolled.

What's meant to be, will be.

I make light of it all, but it's actually wild-wild-wild how simply and perfectly this whole education side of my life fell into place. My job fell into my lap, and barely changed anything. I still take my kids to school, still pick them all up, still take them to their activities, still spend every afternoon with them. I even have a couple of hours in the mornings when I can jump into their school celebrations or walk around Target. And then this actually feasible BA program somehow worked out perfectly and took all the credits I'd hoped it would take and just...happened.

And the coolest part, is that I woke up every morning and worked on my schoolwork, and a few hours later I went to work-work and immediately put it into practice. Instant real-world experience. I was able to grasp and apply what I learned in a way that I couldn't have planned better if I'd tried.

The teaching imp is so damn smug, it's ridiculous.

I loved my school program almost as much as I love my job. I got to be in the driver's seat through the whole thing, and I was so invested in the content that it rarely actually felt like "work". I didn't just work through the program, I developed into a teacher. An invested, curious, diligent, dedicated teacher. It felt like finally stepping into who I am - finally, finally, finally.

I was granted seven - 7 (!!!) Excellence Awards throughout my program. They are rare and fleeting and it's a huge honor to earn even a single one. I walked away with SEVEN! And after 5 months (thank you, past self, for finishing that Associates Degree and all of that Education coursework nearly 20 years ago, you're the GOAT) - I had a degree.

I HAVE a degree. That elusive thing that I was always so mad I didn't just finish. I was so close! More than halfway. I'd basically accepted that I just would never be in the "4 year degree" club. It doesn't actually feel any different, in the way that you shrug when people ask you how it feels to be X+1 number of years on your birthday. But I went so long being someone without that credential, and now I do have it, and it's sometimes hard to remember. 

So, what's next?

Licensure. There's still several hoops to jump, but they're now actually accessible and obtainable and that' such a wild thought, sometimes. I'm so close to achieving a dream I'd put up on a shelf and glanced at fondly but considered to be of the "that ship has sailed" variety. As it turns out - it's who I am. Teaching is where I belong. And I don't regret hitting pause for all of those years. I was still a teacher - to my kids. I poured everything I had into their little lives. And while I still do, I'm so glad that they got 100% of my heart and soul for as long as they did. It was meant to be this way. 

🖤