Not of the world, but of school.
Usually I quake and tremble at the mere thought of school letting out. Usually I crawl out to the bus in my fuzzy slippers, drop to my knees, and beg them to keep coming. I make visits to the teachers and implore them to stay in the building teaching my children.
Why would I do such a thing? Because when school ends, the lovely yellow bus won't pull up at my curb and take my children away. The teachers all go home. These are the stuff nightmares are made of. I know because I read the ingredient list.
I also know this sounds bad, and that several of you may be nominating me for a mother of the year award right now. But let me explain. My children will be stuck with me. All summer. All day. Every day.
Let me say that again. They'll be stuck with me. They won't get services. None. No speech or physical therapy. No highly trained, talented teachers that use their magic touch to crack the shell around my kids and let them escape from their disability for a few precious hour a day.
How could I not want that to go on all year long?
So in my own twisted way, this is a shout-out to all the teachers, assistants, therapists, peer tutors, bus drivers, administration, lunch ladies, librarians, and custodians who help shape my children's lives.
We love you. Yes, all of you. I know words are poor and flimsy compared to the hours, weeks, and months you dedicate to my children, but they come from the heart. You are a vital extension of my family, and we couldn't do it without you.
So, thanks for loving the boys even when they refuse to shower and smell. Thanks for loving them through long fingernails and temper tantrums. Thanks for caring even when they throw things, break headphones, or flush sack lunches down the toilet so they can eat pizza at school. Thanks for loving them even when they growl at you or refuse to leave the room because there are clouds outside.
Thanks for teaching them to read, count, and tell time. Thanks for teaching them to do all the thousands of little things the rest of us take for granted. I know it's slow going and hard, but each small triumph is huge. Every word, figure, or number is a miracle to us. We feel your impact here at home. And for the first time, I'm not scared of summer because your influence has been so lasting in their lives. For the first time I don't want to dress as the Grim Reaper on the last day of school.
For the first time I'm excited for summer.
So thank you for my children. Thank you for everything.