Dear Me,

I see you.

I see how you just cleaned up all that vomit from the blankets and the sheets, not to mention the wall, and floor and mattress, right as you were about to go to bed. I see how you carefully scrubbed that little blanket that you wove on your mother’s big loom 7 years ago, 7 months pregnant, in love with those colors, knowing it was to fit a baby, not a gender. I see how you then kissed your son’s head and comforted him before you left the room, leaving the door open because he’s just a bit scared, even though he may be ten years old.

I see how you attended all the events this week, and last week, and the week before that. I see how you got your kids to school, even if they were late, but they made it anyway. I also see how you always remember to pick them up, at their multiple pickup times and entrances and locations. I see how you ferry them to their activities, sometimes packing healthy snacks and sometimes not giving a fuck and getting them McDonald’s, just to see how overjoyed they become.

I see how you help them with their homework and reading and piano, even when they don’t want to and you don’t want to, I mean who cares how many children you’ve taught over the decades, working with your own children should earn you a medal. I see how you make them dinner, even when you’re tired and uninspired, but you always think of something, even if they complain and you make them eat it anyway because you’re definitely not making everyone their own meal or mac and cheese every night, because you do have some standards, even if it’s scrambled eggs. I see how you put them to bed and sometimes yell at them for being so slow and then hyper right when it’s time to finally go to sleep, but then you snuggle with them and read and sing to them so they always go to sleep knowing you love them.

I see all those damn play dates you schedule and the birthday parties you go to that feel like a special kind of torture and the gifts you remember to buy, even though it makes you depressed about over consumption and the death of our planet, but you know it makes your kids happy. I see how you plan their own birthday parties, trying to think of something special and creative, that includes everyone and no gifts, that is easy and not torture-inducing, but instead is memorable and maybe a little different and not over the top, but reminds you of your own best memories from childhood in hopes that they will remember it, too.

I see you as you go to work every day, from classroom to classroom, school to school, making your way around the city. I see how you teach lessons, help plan units, give thoughtful feedback, and lead professional development. I see how you sometimes doubt yourself and your expertise, and your ability to reach your teachers or make real change, but I also see your moments of pride and confidence, and when you know you got it. I see you missing the classroom and your community, but also finding the thrill of being somewhere different each day.

I see you as you hit the snooze button, wishing you were a morning person but knowing you were never meant to be and you’ve given up on hope that you ever will be. I see you going to bed each night, wondering what else you could’ve done today, knowing full well there wasn’t room for anything else but always feeling like maybe there was something you’re missing.

I see you.

And I’m so proud of you.

Love,

Me