dear teachers, I promise to never say this to my kids.

I went to my first preschool meeting last week and officially shifted my school lens from teacher to parent.

I was all, “This is no big deal” about it until Lily’s teachers started talking about how they are the first teachers she will meet in a long line to follow. How they help set the tone for the rest of her educational experience. How this is the beginning of many years to follow.

And that’s kind of a big deal when I really think about it.

So, I’ve been thinking about the grand scheme lately–what I want for my girls out of their educations and what I hope to model for them in the process.

And in thinking through that long list of things, I have decided on one thing for sure: There is one phrase my kids will never hear me say in reference to the things they are learning in school.

“You’ll never need to know that in the real world.”

I have gone rounds with middle school and high school students on this one during my time spent on the teaching side of things.

My mom said I’ll never have to write a paper once I have a job.

My dad has never read a book in his entire life, and he makes tons of money.

My sister is in 10th grade, and she told me she never uses English. (my personal favorite)

Kids innately want purpose. They want to know that the things they are doing matter. I see this now even with Lily and her propensity to ask, “Why?”

And yet, teachers have such a limited time to convince kids that what they are doing matters in the long run. Especially if when they go home, they hear how much it doesn’t.

Now, I haven’t written many formal speeches since I passed my college speech class. I don’t regularly utilize the distributive property in my daily life or analyze the parts of a cell underneath a microscope. I have forgotten the conjugation of Spanish verbs, the major scale on my flute, and the words to the preamble of the Constitution (which I once had memorized).

Instead, what I do on a daily basis is think and analyze and process and problem solve and learn.

The things that matter are so often hidden within the things kids think don’t.

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And that’s where I come in as a parent. I think it is my responsibility to teach my kids that there is value in learning for the sake of learning. That if they approach even the tasks they hate with hard work, determination, and a positive attitude, they will gain skills that will take them far in life (even if they decide to never read another Shakespearean play after high school).

Lily spent the first 15 minutes of her first day of preschool sitting at a kidney table doing puzzles. I suppose I could have let her know that she’ll hardly ever need to complete a physical puzzle once she’s an adult (I certainly don’t do them very often).

Instead, I chose to praise her problem-solving skills, focus, and refusal to give up.

It seemed a no-brainer to me.

So, here’s to the teachers doing the hard work of convincing kids to learn. If my kids ever grace your classrooms, I’ve got your back.

(Also, I may need some extra tutoring sessions on Spanish verb conjugation and the distributive property.)

i want the best time of my life to be now.

When I was a senior in college, a girl who had recently graduated told me that she would give anything to go back to school.

“It was best time of my life,” she said. “Nothing will ever compare.”

Now, I had quite a lot of fun in college (see: hosted floor talent shows and road tripped with my friends to every football game so I could watch the cute wide receiver for examples), but even then I think I balked a little at her comment.

Maybe I’ve been thinking about it because the weather dipped back down into the seventies yesterday and reminded me that a change in season is on my horizon. Maybe it’s because all my teacher friends are decorating classrooms and meeting new students. Maybe it’s because Lily starts preschool on Monday.

In any case, my resolve remains strong: I refuse to believe that nothing will ever compare to right now.

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I want the best time of my life to be where I’m at now, but, more importantly, I want to be able to say that in every season. With every new milestone. 

This thought process always makes me think of the Robert Frost poem, “Nothing Gold Can Stay.

Nature’s first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf’s a flower;
But only so an hour,
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.

I suppose I could sink to grief. Agonize over the fact that Lily is entering this new, more independent phase or wish I could freeze everything exactly as it is right now.

But, what good would that do anyone?

And, besides, when I think of every new phase—the new jobs, the new people, the new kids, the new houses, the new milestones—each one has added something beautiful to my life (even if it was hard to see at the time). Even during those hard seasons, I don’t think I could ever say, “I just wish I could go back.” (at least, I hope I didn’t.)¹

I want to be a person who balances nostalgia with realism. Who holds onto and cherishes the moments while I have them but also finds joy in the moments of letting go and moving forward. I want to embrace the beauty of new seasons rather than trying to keep my feet rooted in the past.

That’s what I want.

(So, feel free to remind me of these thoughts when Lily starts kindergarten, leaves for college, and/or gets married someday.)  😉

 


¹ I certainly don’t mean to downplay the tragic and/or devastating seasons of life some people face. I imagine those moments are wrought with many feelings of wanting something back that has been lost or taken away. I’m mostly talking here in terms of the natural changes and milestones we seem to continually face as a family. The mostly trivial but necessary things.