Stormy Mornings And Raising Teachers

My favourite kind of mornings are the stormy ones. They’re the ones where I wake up, walk out of the bedroom, and find the house is still dark from the hiding sun. Outside, the clouds have closed in around our little house, and we’re living in a cotton wool snow globe. It seems that everyone moves slower when the rains are rolling in, and that’s what makes those mornings my favourite.

Our balcony isn’t as dry as I thought it would be in the monsoonal rains that are typical of this season. Still, when it’s just a drizzle, making percussion patterns on the tin roof, I can get away with sitting outside. Just me and a paperback, and the occasional strong, damp wind to keep me awake. It’s a perfect kind of relaxation.


And sometimes, when the rain rolls in over the trees thick and fast, whiting out the distance in a haze of pouring, Dean and I still sit on the balcony. We give ourselves over to the water, whooping as it washes over us, and listening to the thunder carry our calls out over the neighbourhood. Getting water whipped by almost cold rain on the balcony makes the proceeding hot water showers that much better, and it will always be worth the wet clothes and extra washing, just for that.

In many ways the year feels like it should be winding down, but in truth I’m winding up for a new challenge. Being back at university is just as mixed as I expected it to be. On some days, I feel like I’ve cracked it, like everything is just flowing out of my brain like so much water off a gutter. On other days, that same superpower brain is porridge in the hands of excessive readings and questions that I can’t seem to answer, as I struggle to keep my eyes open.


Still, there are some things to be grateful of. For one, writing is easy now. After years of working as a writer, trying to push myself to produce as many words as I can every day, the idea of writing a few thousands words in an essay basically seeps out of my fingertips. Reports, recounts, analysis. These are words I am familiar with, and they take less out of me than I had thought. Of course, I review more, obsess over little details and the eventual marks that will accompany them. Between work and university, I do even more writing than ever before, but more reading too. I’m up early and in bed late catching up on concepts and courses. It’s exhaustion for the best end game.

Math still throws me most of the time. I know as a primary teacher I’ll be tackling it everyday, so I’m trying to love it. Sometimes I do, when I get back to basics. But being a teacher is about being a few steps ahead, so I have to go beyond the basics to teach them. Concepts seem to slip right through my fingers, with understanding right on the tip of my tongue, but I’ll get there in the end. Of course, that won’t stop me enlisting the help of those around me if I need to. Raising a child takes a village, but so does raising a teacher.


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