Just Another Day in Teacher Town

First, the good news. I've secured a job teaching sixth grade English at my home school. All that worrying for nothing because now I know that I'm headed back to the school where just last year, I grew my baby boy from poppy seed-sized to Butterball turkey. Every day I walked across the soccer field, from my backyard to the door of the cafeteria, my puffy feet in flip flops. That cute little turkey will have a working mommy next year, but at least she can rest assured knowing where she'll be and what she'll be doing. Phew, now that's settled.

This morning, I headed over to the same school as a parent to my eighth grader. I had copies to make and boxes to stuff as a member of the Eighth Grade Promotion Party Committee, and I enjoyed the excuse to visit to find co-workers in motion stopping to share school news and happiness that I'll be back in the fold before long. I stood by the copy machine, imagining what my life might be like next year while the little monkey sat next to me in the stroller, pacifier in mouth, wide-eyed and rosy cheeked. I was counting out copies for homerooms...5, 6, 7, 8, scoop...5, 6, 7, 8, scoop. My phone rang. It was a school number on the screen.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Mrs. Mom. Your son is in the clinic. He has a sore throat."

"Oh, thank you. I'm in the next room. I'll be right over."

I pressed End on my phone, pushed stop on the copy machine, and pulled the stroller next door to the clinic where I found my son, flushed and coughing, with the nurse (new since I left) in baffled recognition, still holding the phone. We had passed each other in the office a little while ago.

"I was helping out with some copies," I told her. "I'll sign him out now."

Family, neighborhood, school, work all wrapped into one. Believe me, it doesn't always come together like that, but sometimes they all hold hands and sing Kumbaya.