It’s 11:46 a.m. on a Tuesday, October 6. I just told the twins to take a break because the last activity for the Mother Tongue (Sinugbuanong Binisaya language) subject is a bust.
I’m tired and I’m close to being fried.
I seriously feel like I’m this huge chunk of meat that has been marinated and breaded, ready to be submerged in a vat of boiling oil.
Yesterday, October 5, the first day of school was great! We tackled English and Math and we were done before the rice cooker flashed the red light on top of the “warm” sign.
Today is another story.
I’ve been translating sentences and paragraphs from Binisaya to English. The children, our seven-year-old twins, are picking up the lessons quite fast but even “fast” has its nuances.
Fast also means two different types of learning speed when you’re teaching two children in the same grade level with the same module.
Antoinette’s ability to learn Binisaya and comprehend the lessons is further up the scale than her twin brother. But she’s also competitive so there is a lot of work to be done in terms of instilling in her that not everything is a competition – – and that not every activity is about who gets to finish first or who gets the highest score.
Nicholas is a chill boy. His Bisaya-speaking skill is cute but leaves a lot of room for improvement. He understands and answers exercises well because he’s pretty good in context clues. He can read and understand Binisaya; speaking and reading the language is another issue. His thoughts fly to snap circuits and machines he wants to invent in the middle of a lesson that distinguishes Kinsa (Who) from Ngano (Why).
I also go to school, graduate school that is, and I’m in a state of panic because my weekday mornings are now occupied by teaching my children. It’s like I’m having my practicum before I even earn my Diploma in Professional Education.
The crazy part is that I am not only teaching my seven-year-old twins, who are in Grade 2. I also have a five-year-old boy who is in kindergarten. While I give the twins a break, I start classes with the not-so-little boy, Jeffrey Jr. We normally work on his literacy tasks. When we’re done, he takes a break and then I resume class with the twins.
I continue with the twins’ class and while they are rewriting a paragraph or answering an exercise, Jeffrey Jr. and I work on his numeracy tasks. We usually finish these tasks and wrap up the lessons before I go back to the twins.
I am exhausted.
In the middle of the many things I need to do, I’m bored. Can you imagine that? I am actually bored.
I am exhausted and bored.
What kind of combination is that?
I’m doing my yoga breaths to stay calm at this very moment to avoid a meltdown; my meltdown.
My back hurts; my eyelids are twitching; and I’m incredibly hungry but I don’t have the energy to cook a meal for myself because I am too tired.
Am I alone in feeling this?
Am I too selfish?
Am I supposed to be all so rosy and perky to ALWAYS inspire my children to study their lessons and accomplish their academic tasks?
My husband said he’s going to cook lunch for me. The kids are fed. The house smells like a tapsilogan.
The seven-year-old girl just came up to me and kissed me on the forehead.
“What was that kiss for?” I asked.
“That’s for being the best teacher in the world,” was her reply.
And just like that.
I’m not anymore submerged in that vat of oil.
All is well.
For now.
Tomorrow is another battle to tackle.
