If you follow our tweets or are friends with me on Facebook, then my post today is old news for you, well, except maybe the details that didn't fit into the small update spaces on the other social medias!
For the past two weeks, I struggled with making a difficult decision. I was fortunate to have had the decision to make, for sure, but it created knots in my stomach just the same.
I taught elementary education in the public school system of Wisconsin for twelve years. Recently, I posted about how I had to box up my room again this year, and that I've had to box up many times over the years, due to being the least senior teacher in my buildings and being the one who had to switch grades, classrooms and buildings. In fact, in twelve years I've boxed up eight times. In the building I'm in now I've been in four rooms during my seven years there.
I was being moved to another building, switching from second to fifth grade for next year. I was very excited about the teachers I was going to be working with, and I'd been excited to go back to fifth grade for the past four years.
Except, the thought of another temporary classroom was unsettling. I knew in my heart I wouldn't want to unpack those boxes again. I knew I'd feel temporary, and I wouldn't give my all next year. I knew it was time for a change so that I could find a home, a classroom I could call mine, and a grade level I could feel confidant about teaching. I wanted to want to give 150% to my career again.
An opening came available in my sons' Catholic school, and the principal told me about it, an invitation to apply. I did. She offered the position to me. The difficult part of the decision was that I'd be making pretty much the same salary working full-time as I made part-time the past three years. The other hard part was that I'd be full-time and I would be losing the afternoons with my kids, 4 and 6 mos. However, I'd be my six year old's first grade teacher, and I'd be able to bring my four year old to and from school Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays.
So then I needed to see if my kids' babysitter would go from part-time to full-time, since for the past year she got a job working in a daycare in the afternoons. She'd had three other families contact her for care, so I thought there was a pretty good chance she'd do it.
I was supposed to let the principal know my decision Wednesday. My sitter said she'd let me know Thursday. At that time, I was still going round and round about whether or not I would feel guilt-free enough to be full-time (I'd come to term with the money thing). Then my babysitter emailed me letting me know she wanted to work at the daycare full time. She quit me entirely.
I felt sick for the night, too sick to give the principal an answer. My husband said I'd definitely need to turn the position down. News that made me cry. News that, an hour later, made me feel relieved. I'd stay part-time. I wouldn't have to resign or get letters of recommendation. I knew what was expected of me. Everything would stay the same. Safe.
Because change is scary.
An hour after that, my husband told me to take the new job. (He was as wishy-washy as me!) He said we needed to find a sitter anyways.
So after a merry-go-round of thinking (again and again) for an hour on Friday morning, I called (my new) principal and told her YES. I took the full-time first grade position.
My son was thrilled. I'd be his teacher!
After I turned in my letter of resignation, and let my (former) principal and co-workers know, so was I.
As for the sitter, I think we may have that worked out too, but I'll save that for another post!