You know all those mommy blogs out there, where a harried and exhausted mother admits she abhors something she knows she's supposed to love? I secretly hate packing my child's lunch. Or, I actually don't like nursing. It hurts and it's exhausting. Or perhaps, I skip pages when I read my child to sleep, because the stories are stupid and I'm tired.
I've got a guilty admission, too, but it's not about being a mother. Mine is a confession about being a principal, one I hesitate to even mention because only a bad person and crappy principal would feel this way. It's this: Yearbook day.
This is the day in late May when kids get the yearbook they ordered way back in October, and the manic, free-for-all flurry of yearbook signing begins.
That's what I hate. I hate, hate, hate signing yearbooks.
So on yearbook day, all day long, I feel inadequate and crappy. Each time I am asked to sign a yearbook, I do it poorly, and then I'm disappointed in myself. Each time, I scold myself to change my attitude, and I make one of those feeble self-promises to do better next time, and then I don't— another gaggle of kids comes up to me, herd-like, and shoves a Sharpie in my personal space and I go through the whole thing again. And the whole time, I'm feeling on edge because there are fifty other things I should be doing with my time—big end-of-year tasks and questions and problems to deal with.
And then the day ends, and the last day of school comes, and the problem goes away for another year. But I still feel kinda bad about it, every time I see my copy of the yearbook sitting on my desk.
Next year, by God, I'm going to find a way to love it. I don't know how—maybe I'll reward myself with a M-n-M every time I do it right. Or maybe I'll just block the whole day off my calendar and walk around with my own Sharpie and sign every book, unprompted. Maybe I'll sign each one before they even get distributed. I don't know. But there has to be a better way, right? I am determined to find it.