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.