Till I can see so wide.

Poem in my pocket.

Yesterday was Poem in Your Pocket Day. I had planned to do something at my new school like I did at my old school. But Poem in Your Pocket Day was two weeks earlier this year, and spring break is next week, and we are right in the middle of three weeks of benchmark testing that I am sort-of in charge of, and, you guys, I am just so tired. I didn’t manage to do anything. It makes me feel like a failure, that I didn’t do this thing that I love with my students this year. I hate to have to admit it to anyone. I am definitely not living up to my Media Specialist of the Year potential.

I feel like a failure a lot these days, the way that my to-do list keeps growing and all I am managing to do is to get more tired. Mike tried to cheer me up by reminding me of everything I am doing these days: feeding Atticus, pumping during the day (and in the middle of the night), keeping up with the laundry. That’s all that there is. He’s taking care of everything else. I did mop the kitchen floor over the weekend, so we counted that, too. But it really just made me cry some more.

I carried a poem with me yesterday, scribbled hastily on an index card first thing in the morning, even though nobody knew about it. And when I read a book to my kindergarten class that was about a potter who etched his pots with poetry, we talked about what poems are. They weren’t really sure, so I pulled my index card out of my pocket and said, “I have a poem right here!” I read “The Swing” by Robert Louis Stevenson, and they listened politely and agreed that they like to swing really high, just like I do. I carried that poem because I love to swing, because my mom read it to me, and because I have already read it to Atticus, who also loves his swing. Maybe my class will remember that one day, that their library teacher had a poem with her, right there in her pocket, just when she needed it. I am just glad that I managed to remember that it was there.

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