September, the new year of teachers

As teacher And as a mother, I confess that September is my favorite month of the year. We're back at it again. I love choosing a new planner and starting the school year with the excitement of doing everything right. It's like when I was little, I'd open a new notebook, write a pretty title, and write the first two pages in beautiful handwriting. September is like that; it's the month of good intentions, blank pages, and long days that still smell of summer. Even our children are thinking, "This year I'll definitely do everything right and get great grades." We'll talk again in June.

I mentally set goals for myself, like getting to school early, not procrastinating on marking exams (I snort, I have a hard time marking), and being more tidy. You can't imagine the scramble I have to go through every morning leaving the house with my four children, their respective sandwiches, their school backpacks, and their four sports bags. We load the trunk so much that the neighbors must think we're moving. Maybe I need to lower my expectations a bit, and this school year, just "arriving on time and dressed" and "marking" would be enough.

For teachers, the new year begins in September, and the truth is that facing the routine with a tanned complexion feels less overwhelming. Now comes the old adage that teachers get plenty of vacation time, and I'm not going to be the one to tell you otherwise. Yes, we get vacation time, but remember, we don't have a big salary despite the enormous responsibility, nor will we ever get promoted, nor will we become digital nomads in Bali, nor will we get rich buying company stock. We've made our vocation our profession, fully aware that giving to others will never bring a big salary, and unfortunately, now it no longer has any prestige.

I confess that this summer I was a little jealous of my teenage children's vacations. I've seen them lazing on the couch and watching TV series on repeat without even knowing what day it was, and I've longed for the long summers I had when I was little. Remember that feeling of three months of endless vacation, when we even wanted to go back to school? When we get older, we become aware of the value of time and want to make the most of every moment: meeting up with people we haven't seen in a while, reading that book we've been waiting for for Sant Jordi, or simply having a leisurely lunch. Getting back to routine means resuming schedules and going back to packing to get everything done.

Everything happens

For those of you currently in the midst of parenting, I completely understand that you're dying for your kids to go back to school, and perhaps you're eager to get to work and sit in a chair for the first time all month. I know from experience that this stage requires a lot of dedication, but I also tell you that everything happens. I remember going to the beach with my four young children and my head was like a choreographer's: one, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. I'd carry a scrunched-up swimsuit, a Tupperware of watermelon in my bag, and on optimistic days, even a book. Now that they're on their own, I've gotten back a lot of time and calm, although—spoiler alert—it's also exhausting arguing with teenagers who are always right and only looking to push the boundaries. I've gone from counting children at the beach to doing it at night, waiting for everyone to get home from the holidays. Indeed, motherhood means we'll never sleep through the night again.

Summer is ending. Chanquete has died once again, and the vacation notebook is still unfinished. It's time to prepare the books, wash the backpacks, and sharpen the pencils we want to use. The countdown to the next vacation has begun, because we all know that "only summer cures a winter." Welcome to the new school year.