One of my students called me Mom last week.  That was the first time this year, but certainly not the first time over all.  I have several students who continue to call me mom, even years later.  I imagine that happens to everyone.  Sometimes, it’s an accident, a slip of the tongue.  Other times it feels like so much more, like the weight of the world in one small word.

Mom.

I’m not a mother to biological or adopted children.  In general, I’m a cats-not-kids kind of woman.  However, there’s something magical about being acknowledged as the woman who takes care of / makes a difference in a student’s life.  It warms my heart.

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I spent last week with one class giving them a practice test to figure out what they need to work on so we can practice what skills they need for a test. On the flip side, I spent another class looking at poetry and a collection of my students embraced it with everything they had.  There is no better reward than seeing kids’ brains click with the lesson.