By the end of this month, I will have missed 17 days of school, the most consecutive days ever (by far) in 20 years of teaching.
7 days more than I took for the birth of my son.
17 days for my husband grudgingly to allow me to help him after heart surgery.
17 days to get caught up on work.
17 days to do the laundry whenever I want.
17 days to miss at least 5 deadly after-school meetings.
17 days my alarm will not ring at 6:00 a.m. but at 8:00, according to the pill schedule.
17 days to appreciate the sort of freedom my retired friends enjoy.
17 days . . .
to receive emails from students: "hey huth we should watch the movie only Farshid and me and Liz are reading the book"
and "Hey mrs huth how is your husband clas is not as fun with out you. Hope yout husband gets sonn take care."
17 days to get calls from my sub, quiet desperation in his voice, asking me to please send in work that my students would want to complete.
17 days . . .
to realize that my home can be anywhere.
to know that my house is one of my favorite places despite its leaky and cracked spots.
to find that nesting instinct returning from so long ago as I try to make my son's room comfortable for my husband and me, as my daughter and I try to find a chair that will allow him to sleep comfortably (and is not too ugly).
to appreciate a house full of my family after months of quiet.
to realize that I can love my job, and leave it. And that when the time comes to leave it for good, that will be fine with me.
to enjoy being taken care of.
to understand the huge difference 17 days can make.