Yellow-Bellied Sapsuckers
This is one of those posts where the title won’t make a lick of sense until the very end, so stick with me…
One of the AWESOME (and not so awesome) things about my job is that my own three kids can ride the bus straight to the high school where I teach. The obvious awesomeness is my own three kids come to me! I don’t have to go get them after school. The not-so-awesomeness of this is that my own three kids arrive at my place of work before I’m officially finished with work. Let me just paint the picture for you…
Before I even finish working bus duty, my oldest appears, asking if we can stay after for the football game while my middle texts me asking what time his practice starts. I’m still on the clock wrangling one hundred wild bus-awaiting middle schoolers and my youngest is walking around the room making friends with random 8th graders she’s never met, kinda like she’s the Bus Room Queen, blessing everyone with her presence.
When I finish my bus room duty and escort the Queen back to my classroom, the boys are waiting for me like vultures. They swoop down on me with three thousand questions while the youngest empties the entire contents of her bookbag to show me her day’s work.
At this point, trying to finish any meaningful work is a no-go, so I pack up and turn my computer off while playing referee to my three precious squabbling seagulls (I’m really into this bird metaphor thing, so stay with me). As we walk out, someone whines about what we are or are not doing this evening while someone else complains about being hungry. The third someone will pipe up and ask if we can go to Dairy Queen. (By the way, 99% of the time, the answer to DQ is “no,” but that doesn’t stop someone from asking. Every. Day.)
On our 20 minute drive home, the three turkeys talk over each other and fight for air time.
“I was talking! Stop interrupting!”
“Well, you’ve talked the entire time! It’s my turn!”
“Yeah. You talk more than you breathe. Take a break and let me tell Mom about…”
And there may have been times when I’ve stopped in the middle of the road and threatened to leave someone on the side of it.
Keep in mind, folks, this is an honest, unexaggerated description of my average after-school afternoon.
Quiet time? I have none. I enjoy 8 hours of middle schoolers’ yakking and then move straight into my own kids’ chatter.
Time to de-stress, decompress? Nope. I run full tilt from one high stress setting into another. Everyone wants my attention. Everyone needs something from me.
From 7am when we leave the house heading to school until 4pm when we return home, I am “on.” Answering questions, planning the next step, encouraging, correcting, consoling… it’s 9 non-stop hours of Mom/Mrs. Burns performing in the spotlight.
So is it any wonder that when we pull in our garage, the kids get out, unload their stuff and go in the house, I quietly stay in the car, still buckled up, and watch YouTube videos of ingrown toenail removal and horse hoof trimming.
You may call this strange, but I call it survival self-care.
And usually, after about 20 minutes of missing me, one of my little chickadees will come out, knock on the car window, and ask, “Mom? Are you coming inside?” That’s my que to turn my phone off, smile, and pray.
Lord, thank you for these three Yellow-bellied Sapsuckers (I swear it’s a type of bird. Google it!). Give me the energy and grace I need to survive (and maybe even enjoy?) their chaos. You chose me to parent them. Parent through me, Lord, ‘cause I’m completely worn out. Help me be the best bird mom I can be.
