I’m a mummy teacher. A teacher mummy.
It’s reaching the end of six heavenly weeks with my girl. Six weeks of fun, games, adventures, new words, new sentences, new skills, love and a whole lot of laughter.
And I can’t wait to get back in the classroom.
In the classroom I am seen as the expert.
Although the odd teenager may question whether I really do know about Victorian Melodrama, the students, on the whole, accept that I am the one with the Drama degree and I am therefore the one to be listened to. Not at home! My toddler questions everything I do. “No mummy, this way, no, mummy, naughty mummy”
At school I can wee without an audience.
None of my students shout “mummy, where you going? I come big girl toilet with you! I sit on floor! Tissue mummy?” I am so looking forward to those private wees!
At work people do as I ask them.
Don’t get me wrong, it’s not without the occasional argument. Nor do I want to live a life where everyone bows down to my every command, but, in my work life at least, it’s lovely to not hear “nope” to my every request.
At work I can dress without worrying about boob access.
I can wear dresses with high necklines. I can wear jewellery without worrying about it being “borrowed”. Yes, I can even wear high heels! (I may kick them off when I’m teaching stage combat, but that’s another matter!) I can feel good about how I look.
At school I can eat lunch without sharing and without someone sitting on my lap.
Granted, I may not actually get a lunch break with the rehearsals and clubs, but, in my many years of teaching, not once has a student climbed onto my lap and taken my lunch from my hand while it was en route to my mouth.
At school, every day, I get to return home to cuddles and love and time with my perfect, cheeky, loving and wonderful toddler!