A Love Song...

TR serenaded me this week. The High School Musical soundtrack is big in our house and all the boys dance around singing their approximation of the lyrics. On Tuesday, TR made an "I love Mommy" song to the tune of one and crawled into my lap to sing it to me. Life cannot get better than that. These are the moments to which the mothers of teenagers are referring when they talk about how great it was when their kids were little.

It's not much of a secret that I've been waiting since birth for my children to be older. Nothing against the under-5 set, but I just understand older kids better, they make sense to me. One of the best compliments I ever got as a teacher was from the student who told me "You might be white on the outside, Ms. Up, but on the inside, you're black." On the face of it this is hilarious, since I'm about as WASP as you can get, inside and outside. What he was meant was simply that he could tell I was comfortable being around my students. I always expected them to act appropriately, but I also understood that they were going to act like teenagers and was completely at ease with that. I heard a great quote from a 3rd grade teacher asked about teaching older students. "I've met my people," he said, "and they are 4 feet tall." I've met mine also, and they are closer to 6 ft.

I found myself thinking today about the difference between being someone's teacher and being their parent. I'd like to think I'm going to have the same relationship with my boys that I had with my students but have to acknowledge that's unlikely. As a teacher, I saw them for 90 minutes every other day. We did some cool activities, had some great conversations and that was it. Granted I tested and graded them, not so happy for them since I can be tough, but still I wasn't reminding them to do their homework or take out the garbage or grounding them for missing curfew. I was an authority figure but not the ultimate one. There was no real reason to rebel against me, no need to assert their independence or distance themselves from me.

As much as I would love to be the only parent around who is never told they're horrible or "I hate you," I do know the odds are against me. Still, I'm also hoping I get to have the same engaging conversations with my boys I've had with so many others. Because the same thing that makes those years so hard on parents is what makes them so great for teachers. You get to watch your students figure out who they are, not who their parents want them to be. They try on different hats to see how they fit, find their strengths, and begin determining how they will make their mark on the world. It is an amazing process to watch and I only hope I'm able to appreciate it in my sons as I have in my students.

Regardless, I will get through the rough days the same way parents always have, playing the "I love Mommy" song over and over in my mind.