Teaching with My Whole Ass

"How do you do it?"  I asked my colleague.  She is the mother of a 4-year old.  "I feel like the best I can be is a half-assed teacher."

"I haven't taught with my whole ass in about 5 years," she responded.  It didn't make me feel better.

If I'm being honest, I have to say that I am not teaching with my whole ass, either.  Not even remotely.  Calling my work "half-assed" is probably overgenerous.  Many days, I stumble into class still in my coat and fling my backpack down in front of my students and ask them where we left off last time.  This is my new-mother version of a lesson plan.  I am several weeks behind in my grading.  I thought I could grade after my daughter goes to bed, but as it turns out, I also need to find time in the day to sleep.  I know.  Sleep!  What a waste of time!

What does it even mean to give it everything I have, when "everything I have" is so very little?  So little attention.  So little energy.  So little time.

Right now, I have this amazing dream of working over the winter break.  I will come in 3 days per week, while my daughter is at day care, and I will work.  I will write syllabi.  I will plan lessons.  I will read ahead.  Yes: reading the material I have assigned before my students read it is something I am definitely planning to try to do over winter break.  If I can.

The reality is that working at all still feels like a luxury that I can't afford.  Every moment that my attention is diverted from my child is a moment I can't get back.  She spent the weekend with my sister this past weekend, and she had a great time.  She played with her cousins so much much that she actually slept through the night.  She eventually noticed I was gone and became kind of distraught, and when she finally came home, she didn't want to leave my presence for a full 24 hours.  All of the rest and relaxation of the weekend went out the window as we played emotional catch-up.

The priority these last few days has been making sure she understands that I will come back.  I tell her, "You had fun with your cousins, didn't you?"  I say, "See?  Mommy was gone for a while, but then I came back, and now we're at home together."  What kind of parent would I be if I spent those moments at home grading papers or planning lessons instead of bonding with my daughter?  But what kind of teacher walks into class blind and just wings it?

So, maybe I can't be a good mother and a good teacher.  At least not until my kid goes to school.  Maybe that's the balance I need to find -- I will be mediocre at both but not terrible at either.

In the meantime, I will just teach with as much of my ass as I can muster in each moment.  My colleague who claims to be such a mediocre teacher is actually pretty awesome.  Her students love her.  She gets good evaluations.  People want her on committees.  She's smart, professional, and generally pretty great at her job.  I will try to rest assured in the knowledge that, if she can half-ass it and still be so great, then maybe so can I. 

Finding a Balance

Since becoming a parent 10 months ago, I have a newly sharpened understanding of the Buddhist tenet, "Life is Suffering."  Exhaustion has become my new regular mode.  Frustration, my new regular attitude.  Between changing diapers, breastfeeding, rocking and singing the baby to sleep, playing, swinging, walking the dog, doing laundry, and cooking dinner, I have to find time to do my full-time job.  When people ask me how motherhood is going, the first thing that comes to mind is "Traumatizing."

I often wonder why anyone wants to do this.  I suppose it's possible that someone, somewhere, enjoys losing her identity, along with any semblance of control over her own body, to raise a child who will inevitably come to believe that its mother has ruined its life.  Isn't there supposed to be a payoff?  A good reason to do this?  A happy feeling?  Something?

Sure, there are moments of bliss.  When my daughter looks at me -- in my sweatpant-festooned, unshowered state, face tear-stained and blotchy, hair askew, baby food dribbled on my shirt -- and she smiles at me.  I am a mess and she smiles at me.  That's pretty nice.  I have a feeling that I'm supposed to think this nice feeling is worth it; that I could live in poverty for this nice feeling.  That if anyone finds out how little attention I pay to my job and decides to fire me, this nice feeling will sustain me.  But the truth is, it won't.  I need my teaching job in order to do my mothering job.

Other parents seem more capable than me.  They show up to work with their eyes open, fer chrissakes.  How do they do that?  They write lesson plans.  They grade their students' papers in a timely fashion.  All these things I used to just do, and they now require a serious effort, weeks of planning, a babysitter, and an extra $12 an hour plus food.

Right now, it seems like "balancing" work and home life is an unattainable dream.  From reading the various "mommy blogs," I get the impression that posts like this one are supposed to end with some kind of upbeat, inspiring message.  Here's how I do it!  Here's how I have it all!  But so far, I'm not doing it, and having it all is obviously impossible.  I'd settle for having 1/3 of it.

If I'm being honest, I love being a teacher far more than being a parent.  Teaching is something I've been trained for.  I'm good at it.  There are identifiable criteria for success.  Parenting is a crapshoot.  I try things and fail every day.  No, every hour.  Every minute.  It's painful and difficult.  I suppose the best I can do is say, "I'll keep trying."  If I find a way to balance things, I will let you know.  Don't hold your breath.