Preventing Teacher Burnout – Part 4: Slash Your To-Do List

teacher burnout

 

Part One: Why Teachers Fail To Protect Themselves From Burnout

Part Two: Make a Plan

Part Three: Say No

Teachers have a lot to do. But how much of it really matters? What’s impactful? What will make a difference in your classroom? How much difference will it make? These are questions that teachers who hope to work fewer hours must ask. They must be willing to question everything they’ve done and everything they think they know about teaching.

In my book, The Teacher’s Guide to Weight Loss, I share how when I was growing up my mom never cooked fajitas. I didn’t have a fajita until I got to college. And when I had them there, I got them from a Mexican chain restaurant. I soon discovered that all of these restaurants served the meal in nearly the same way. You’d get a pile of steaming hot meat and vegetables served to you in a sizzling cast-iron skillet. You’d get three or four soft-shell tortillas wrapped in foil or hidden in tortilla-sized plastic container. You’d get a plate of toppings, some rice, and a pile of refried beans.

No matter where you went, you pretty much got the same amount of food. And it was usually more than I needed. When I started making fajitas at home, I made them the same way I was served them at restaurants, right down to the too-large portions and sides.

The same thing happens with teaching. We all grew up attending school and seeing teachers at work. We’re all conditioned to think certain things about the way we do our jobs. We accept timeworn practices like assigning homework, lecturing, and grading papers not because we’ve thought about them and declared them effective but because we haven’t thought about them all. They are the way things have always been done. They are the default.

But the way things have always been done isn’t really working for teachers. We’ve got a nation of stressed out, exhausted, disengaged educators who are counting the years to retirement or getting out altogether. Even many of our very best teachers jump ship at the first real opportunity.

If you want to stop burnout before it starts to sink its voracious teeth into you, you must start challenging the way you do things.

When looking at your to-do lists, ask these three questions:

Is it necessary?

Is there a way to accomplish it that will take less work on my part?

Can students do it?

Here’s a sample to-do list for a hypothetical third-grade teacher. See which things you can slash from the list without negatively impacting students. Are there things you just don’t need to do so you can have more time to do things that really matter, or, better yet, so you can have that time for yourself? Are there things students can do themselves?

  • Plan next week’s lessons
  • Create weekly parent newsletter
  • Update the class Weebly
  • Check student reading response logs
  • Send Remind message about today’s homework
  • Tabulate the percentage of students who did at-home reading and update the class chart.
  • Find games for the class Halloween party
  • Copy math homework sheets
  • Change the monthly calendar to November
  • Change bulletin board for the magnetism unit
  • Respond to emails
  • Copy math tests
  • Design the next science unit on magnetism
  • Locate materials for magnetism lessons
  • Copy spelling worksheets
  • Create an anchor chart for spelling patterns
  • Create a writing rubric for persuasive essays.
  • Find persuasive essay exemplars for practice scoring with writing rubrics

When you make cutting hours from your week a priority and you create a plan to make it happen, you’ll start looking for ways to optimize your teaching practice. You will question how necessary things are. You’ll ask if something that will take an hour is twice as impactful as something that takes 30 minutes. You’ll recognize that every decision involves a trade-off.

Starting with your to-do list forces you to ask the one question every teacher must constantly ask:

Why are you doing what you are doing?

Take the parent newsletter, a staple of most elementary classrooms. It takes you 15-20 minutes to create each week. How many parents read it? Don’t know? Find out. Put a simple request at the end of it. Even if parents do appreciate the information, do they need all of it? Would a simple three-sentence email sent to a group list get the job done just as effectively?

A colleague of mine got rid of her weekly newsletter and now only writes one a month. Not a single parent said a word about it.

Are you changing bulletin boards because the students benefit from them, or because you’re worried about what others think when they pop their heads into your room?

Does your classroom website help students learn? Does anyone other than you look at it? If not, why are you wasting time on it? Be honest with yourself. Are you doing it because it makes you look like a better, more tech-savvy teacher, or because your principal is a techy guy and you want to impress him, or because you’re lying to yourself that parents actually check it, or because what you really want to do is web design and not teach? If it’s not helping students, quit doing it. 

Is changing the classroom calendar the best use of your time, or could you have a student who regularly gets his work done early do it instead? Do you even need a calendar? If so, would printing off an already-made one suffice?

Why are you creating a writing rubric from scratch for your persuasive essay unit when there are a hundred available on the Internet that are just as good as anything you’re going to make? Do you really think your rubric creating skills are that much better than everyone else who’s made one and uploaded it?

Why are you still doing weekly spelling lists? Do they work? Are you doing it because parents like and expect them? Are you doing it to kill ten minutes every day? Are you doing it because it’s in your ELA program? Are those good reasons?

Can’t you create anchor charts while you’re teaching the lesson, instead of preparing them ahead of time?

You can ask these types of questions of everything on your list, and you should if you’re serious about cutting hours from your workweek. Minutes add up, and the fewer of them you spend on unimportant things, the more you’ll have for the good stuff. Become obsessive about questioning everything you do that sucks your time and you’ll end up with more time.

In case you’re wondering, here’s what the above list would look like if I had my way with it:

  • Plan next week’s lessons
  • Create parent newsletter
  • Update class Weebly
  • Check student reading response logs
  • Send Remind message about today’s homework
  • Tabulate the percentage of students who did at-home reading and update  the class chart.
  • Find games for the class Halloween party
  • Copy math homework*
  • Change the monthly calendar to November
  • Change bulletin board for the next science unit
  • Respond to emails
  • Copy math tests
  • Design next science unit
  • Locate materials for science unit
  • Copy spelling worksheets
  • Create an anchor chart for spelling patterns
  • Create writing rubric for persuasive essay.
  • Find exemplars for practice scoring with writing rubrics

Some explanations:

  • I actually create a weekly parent newsletter, but that’s because I enjoy it. Still, were I pinched for time, this is something I could remove and replace with an email or Remind messages.
  • I’ve had class websites. Huge waste of time. I use Google Classroom for everything now.
  • I don’t require reading response logs because they’re a good way to make reading a chore.
  • I send Remind messages, but not about homework. I only give homework to those parents who requested it for the year (11 out of 22)
  • I don’t track at home reading. I have in the past but those who read would have anyway and those who didn’t weren’t inspired to by my tracking of it.
  • Let parents plan the class parties.
  • I copy math homework for the parents who want it, which is a significant reduction over what I used to do.
  • The only calendar in my room is the lunch calendar, which works perfectly well.
  • I reserve bulletin board space for student work and class information.
  • There’s no point in designing your own science units when others have already done this work or when your district has adopted a science curriculum. Use what’s there. Even if you could make one that’s better, it wouldn’t be worth your effort.
  • No weekly spelling lists. They don’t work.
  • Find a rubric online or in your writing curriculum or check with a colleague.

When you look at every part of your teaching practice with a critical eye, you’ll find you’re doing a lot of things and you’re doing many of them for poor reasons. Slashing your to-do list is a way of saying no to those things that don’t accomplish your primary goal of educating the students in front of you. Break out of default mode and question everything. You’ll increase your focus and decrease the amount of time you spend on the job.

Angela Watson cares about the same things I do. She wants teachers to have long, fulfilling careers making a difference for kids in their classrooms. To that end, she has created the 40 Hour Teacher Workweek Club. While you may not get down to 40 hours right away, you will carve out large blocks of time from your typical workweek. Like me, Angela is a big believer in to-do lists and prioritizing. As part of her club, you’ll get resources that will help you do just what I wrote about above. Check it out. The enrollment window closes January 9.

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Not Every Lesson is a Lexus

It’s the holiday season, which means you’ve no doubt been reminded about Lexus’s “December to Remember” sales event. The commercials have become as much of a holiday tradition as decorating trees, lighting menorahs, and racking up consumer debt.

I am sure it’s nice to own a Lexus. They seem like very fine automobiles. You can get one with steering assist, intelligent high-beam headlamps, a center-console app suite that allows you to check Facebook or local fuel prices, parking assist systems, ambient interior lighting, and genuine wood accents, among many other options.

Sounds nice.

But nobody really needs a Lexus.

I have a car. It is not a Lexus. It’s old, paid for, and gets decent gas mileage. Most importantly, it reliably gets me where I need to go. Sure, the other stuff would be nice, but if the car doesn’t run, none of those options are going to matter.

It reminds me of lesson planning. Teachers sometimes get the message that every lesson has to be a Lexus. Teacher preparation programs are guilty. So are professional books on the topic. If you search online for lesson plan templates, you’ll get things like this (obviously created by someone who either never taught or who dropped dead from exhaustion):

Lots of features. But none of them matter if kids don’t learn what they’re supposed to learn.

Not every lesson has to be a Lexus. Most of the time, a reliable old beast is just fine. Here’s an example:

For the past couple of years, I’ve taught force and motion. One of the standards is for students to be able to understand the concept of balanced and unbalanced forces.

I thought tug-of-war would be perfect. So the first year I taught it, I planned out everything. I thought of the contests students would have and tried to push them into thinking of the same ones (shoes vs. socks, boys vs. girls, left hand vs. right hand, etc.). I decided on the teams ahead of time. I booked the gym and secured the rope. I typed up a list of expectations for behavior and we went over them before going to the gym. I noted what vocabulary I wanted to use with students. I created a worksheet for students to record the results, write down observations and explanations, and note any questions they still had.  I created a rubric so I could grade them on their understanding of the concept. That lesson was a Lexus, baby!

And it went fine. But man, I spent a lot of time creating it. Which, if you’ve ever read this blog before, you know how I feel about that.

Teachers sometimes forget there are trade-offs to every decision. Sure, you can spend an hour designing and preparing for a single lesson. But is that the best use of your time? Are there ways you can cut your prep time so you have more time for other things, including your personal life? Will spending an extra 30 minutes designing a lesson actually lead to more learning? How much more? Is that much worth it?

Does every lesson need to be a Lexus?

We still do the tug-of-war lesson, but these days it takes about ten minutes of planning. The lesson is more like my actual car now. Not as impressive to outsiders but it gets the job done. After all, students just needed to understand the concept of balanced and unbalanced forces. Not exactly rocket science.

Instead of thinking of the experiments and trying to guide students to them, I just let the kids think of them to start with. This past year, they came up with one-arm vs two-arms and facing forward vs. facing backward, two ideas I wouldn’t have thought of.

Instead of creating a worksheet, they just take a notebook to the gym and write down the answers to my prompts and questions after each experiment.

Instead of a list of expectations, I basically have one: Stop on the whistle and then follow directions. If you can’t do that, I won’t pick you to participate in the rope tugging.

Instead of choosing teams ahead of time, I just pick them right there in the gym.

The fancy options aren’t important. The learning is what matters. And asking students to do more while I do less is a good way to increase learning while saving my own time and energy for other things.

Lexus’s slogan is “The Relentless Pursuit of Perfection.” Sounds good. But it’s exhausting. Your lessons can always be better. You can always do more. There are always more features you can add. But sometimes, you just need the thing to get you where you’re going.

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In a couple of days, I’ll be expanding much more on some of the ideas mentioned above with a 10-part series called Preventing Teacher Burnout. It’s in conjunction with Angela Watson’s excellent 40 Hour Teacher Workweek Club. The club, which is open to new members starting on December 30, offers weekly content that helps teachers cut hours off their workweeks. I’m a huge believer in teachers finding ways to do fewer things better, and that’s what Angela’s club is all about. It’s why I’m one of her affiliate partners. If you’re interested in learning more, you can check it out here.

 

 

 

 

What’s Wrong With “Doing What’s Best For Kids”

best for kids.

There’s a YouTube video called, “The Most Unsatisfying Video in the World ever made.” It lives up to its name. It shows people cutting tomatoes wrong, mixing M&Ms and Skittles, scraping utensils against the bottom of an empty bowl, and other cringe-worthy crimes against humanity. Each example in the video makes me reflexively recoil. It’s the visual equivalent of the many phrases in education that induce the same reaction:

“Teach with strict fidelity.”
“College and career ready.”
“Unpacking the standards.”
“Jigsaw this article.”
“Let’s put that idea in the parking lot.”

And also, “Doing What’s Best For Kids.”

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard someone — usually an administrator trying to make teachers feel guilty for self-advocating — say that we all just need to Do What’s Best For Kids. The phrase tends to show up during contentious contract negotiations with regularity. That’s no accident, because all too often it means, “Do what we want you to do, and if you question it, then you’re looking out for yourself instead of your students.”

Some teachers are guilty of using it, too. Questioned about why they made a certain choice, they will hide behind, “It’s What’s Best For Kids” without actually explaining why or how they know that to be true. It’s a way for anyone — teacher, parent, principal — to claim an ethically superior position and send the message that their actions, unlike yours, have selfless motives. They’re doing things for the right reasons, while you may be not.

It’s almost always nonsense.

The Problem

The problem with the phrase, “Doing What’s Best For Kids” is that it can be used to justify damn near anything.

“I’m spanking my kids to teach them right from wrong.”

“I allow my son to eat whatever he wants because I want him to learn he’s responsible for his own choices.”

“We’re taking away recess because students need more time on task.”

“I’m not vaccinating my child because I don’t want her to get autism.”

The phrase, then, is meaningless. But that doesn’t mean it’s powerless. It’s an ace up the sleeve, a flag planted firmly in the high ground, and it’s intended to be a conversation stopper. People on the phrase’s receiving end are supposed to look introspectively and question their motives. They’re supposed to think: I should sacrifice more.

How can anyone argue that educators shouldn’t do what’s best for kids?

Because it’s just not that simple. In addition to the fact that Doing What’s Best For Kids can be used to justify anything, there are three other problems.

Kids Are Different

This should go without saying, but since the phrase keeps getting used, someone ought to point out that kids are different. What’s best for one is often not what’s best for another. My daughter, always a reader, needed only to be given time and books to improve as a reader as she went through school. Other students — reluctant to read and lacking basic skills — needed much more direct instruction. Examples abound:

  • Recess is great for some kids, but it’s a source of anxiety and a daily reminder of their lack of friends for others.
  • Inquiry-based science is more authentic and engaging, but some students don’t learn the content they’re supposed to.
  • Group work teaches kids to collaborate, but it also means some students do much more work (and therefore learn more) than others.

Additionally, what’s best for an individual might not be best for large groups. Ryan is continually distracting the class and making it impossible to teach. It’s certainly not best for Ryan to be kicked out of the room, but it might be best for everyone not named Ryan. Spending one-on-one time with a student will benefit her, but what about the rest of the class?

Of course, a solution to this problem is to differentiate because giving kids what they need is what’s Best For Kids. But differentiation leads to a second problem:

Beliefs Are Different

Not everyone agrees about What’s Best For Kids. That’s why we have standards. Teachers, once mostly left alone, taught whatever they thought was important. I learned about dinosaurs every year from age six to age nine (lot of good it did me, too). I know a former teacher who took time out of every day to have her students sing her favorite college’s fight song. Some teachers still waste class time teaching the dead art of cursive writing. All of these teachers tell themselves they’re doing What’s Best For Kids.

Many educators have diametrically oppositional philosophies about what school should even be. Should it be a place of rigorous work with the aim of producing young people who know things and can demonstrate their knowledge on tests? Should it be a place of wonder and discovery, where failure is encouraged? Should it reflect society, or prepare students to shape a new, better world? Which philosophy is Best For Kids, and is that philosophy best for all kids?

Sometimes, determining what’s best is actually choosing between two benefits, in which case the determining factor is almost always something other than What’s Best for Kids. Field trips are great for kids. So is time on task in the classroom. But if you do one, you sacrifice the other. And since field trips cost money, guess which one administrators think is Best for Kids.

The Biggest Problem

But here’s my main objection to being reminded to Do What’s Best for Kids: It suggests sacrifice and that sacrifice, almost always, is supposed to come from one group of people: teachers.

Teachers, the people doing the hard work of actually educating kids, may have the only legitimate claim on the moral high ground, and yet they are often the ones accused of looking out for their own interests above those of their students. Politicians blame teachers’ unions for ignoring What’s Best For Kids, while turning a blind eye to a myriad of other problems. Administrators — people who have intentionally left the one place where they had the most direct influence on students — have the temerity to suggest to teachers — the people whose job is literally all about the kids and who have chosen to remain in that job despite stagnant pay, deteriorating working conditions, greater expectations, less autonomy, scapegoating, and being reminded to Do What’s Best For Kids — that they ought to sacrifice even more. And sanctimonious teachers wield the tired phrase to feel better about themselves, oblivious to the meaninglessness of their words but comfortable in their own moral superiority.

“Doing What’s Best For Kids” is a weapon. It’s the language of teacher-shaming. It’s manipulative. And when you hear it from an administrator, parent, policy-maker, or even a fellow teacher, prepare to be exploited. Because the insinuation behind this phrase is clear: Teaching is not your job; it’s your calling. And that calling requires you to sacrifice. It requires you to agree to whatever thing someone with more power believes is What’s Best for Kids. So sit down, shut up, sign the contract, and get back in your classroom. Go Do What’s Best For Kids. And if you can’t figure out what that is, don’t worry, someone will let you know.

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Related:

A More Effective Way for Teachers to Say No

The Myth of the Ideal Teacher

We Don’t Believe in Your Magic Bullets

 

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How to Feel Like Less of a Failure

failure

I have a few students who are very challenging this year. I’ve been unable to get through to them. The old tricks aren’t working. My principal has been supportive. The parents aren’t blaming me or the school; they’re doing what they can. But for these students, it has not been a successful year. In fact, it’s been disastrous. And it leaves me feeling like a failure at the end of many days, which makes it difficult to get up and beat my head into that wall again the next day. I’ve been looking for ways to feel like less of a failure, and here is what I’ve tried so far with moderate success:

Taking Inventory

When I think of my class, most of my thoughts drift to those students who are struggling behaviorally. This is expected. In order to hold things together, I spend most of my day focusing on them, so it’s not surprising that when I lie in bed at night or prepare for work in the morning I think of them. The thoughts are almost always negative, which is a really bad mindset to have. So one strategy I’ve used is taking inventory. I go through my class list and assess how each student is doing in school. It’s a subjective exercise, but I try to be as honest as I can. Most are having a good year. A few perform inconsistently. Only three are having big problems. Looking at things this way makes me feel like less of a failure.

Forcing Myself to Focus on Positives

The reality is that most of each day is conflict-free and most students have very few problems. Most do their work. Most have positive attitudes. Most treat others respectfully. The incidents that cause me to feel like a failure are rare, but because they’re disruptive, stressful, and often emotional, they are sometimes the only parts of the day I remember.

So instead of thinking about only those students who don’t seem to be improving, I think of some that obviously have. Like the student who started the year not willing to try, but makes an attempt now. Or the kid who couldn’t control his temper, but hasn’t had an explosion in weeks. There are success stories, and acknowledging them is a good way to counter self-doubt.

In my book Exhausted, I discuss one strategy teachers can employ to use less willpower, and therefore conserve energy lost because of the body’s stress response. Walter Mischel’s famous marshmallow experiment is well known in education circles. It’s often cited as evidence of the importance of self-control. But Mischel was interested in how students distracted themselves from temptation. And the lessons he learned from the kids apply here. When we focus our attention on negatives, we feel stress. We can reduce this stress by distracting ourselves. The kids in the marshmallow experiment covered their faces, turned to the wall, sang to themselves, and looked at their shoes. They did what they could to ignore the marshmallow.

I’ve tried doing this with my challenging students. Sometimes, their actions are cries for attention. I play into their hands by giving it to them when they make poor choices. And I also stress myself out and feel like a failure. Instead of noticing and reacting to their every misdeed, I focus elsewhere, calling attention to students doing the right thing.

Not Accepting Responsibility For Others’ Choices

My job is to make expectations clear, to be consistent with consequences, to build relationships, and to try to make my classroom a place where kids want to be. If I’ve done those things, students will make better choices. At least, that’s the theory. In reality, some poor student choices have nothing to do with me. This year, I’ve had to remind myself that once I’ve done my job, it’s on them. Each student is responsible for her choices.  If they make bad ones, they alone should suffer the consequences.

I wrote more about this here: The Best and Worst Lie Teachers Tell Themselves

Embracing the Challenge

I made a huge mistake at the start of this year. I had a fantastic class last year. I left work with plenty of energy, enough that I started this blog and published two books. I started to feel like I really knew what I was doing, that the success I felt at school was because I was a more skilled teacher than I had previously been. I thought I’d finally figured this thing out, and that from here on out things would be clear sailing.

I forgot a really important truth about teaching: It’s damn hard.

And what makes it hard are students who don’t show up to school with everything they need. You know, the ones who actually need me.

I also need them. My challenging students are there to stretch me as a professional. They provide me with the opportunity to try new things. They force me to adapt, to leave my comfort zone, and try new things. And although most of what I’ve tried this year with those students hasn’t worked, I will show up tomorrow and try something else. I’ll look for incremental improvement, any sign that I’m making an impact. It is those moments, few and far between as they may be, that will help me feel like less of a failure.

Remembering the Past

These are not the only challenging students I’ve had the last 18 years. Far from it. It helps to recall former students who made me feel like a failure. There have been a fair number. I survived every one of them, and I became a stronger teacher because of the experiences. These students and their challenges will not be the last of my career. When I think about going back to work tomorrow or returning day after day for the next twelve or more years, I recall a favorite quote by Marcus Aurelius: “Never let the future disturb you. You will meet it, if you have to, with the same weapons of reason which today arm you against the present.”


 

7 Things I Selfishly Love About Teaching

love teaching

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My wife tells me that I need to write more positive blog posts. She has a point. I do tend to write more about how teachers are tired and should work less. I’ve written about what parents don’t understand, and how we should stop donating labor. One might infer that I’m complaining and that I don’t really enjoy what I do. But the truth is those kinds of articles get read more than positive ones, so I write more of them. Blame my audience.

In an attempt to balance things out, I shall now present a positive article. Never fear, I will not bore you with the platitudes most teachers recite when asked what they love about their jobs. There will be no mention of “making a difference,” or “seeing the light bulb go on,” or, worst of all, “Ah-ha moments” (thanks for that gem, Oprah–it’s called an epiphany and it already had a name).  I like those things fine, but they go without saying. If you don’t feel a sense of accomplishment when you reach a student, then you’re in the wrong profession. My list of seven things I love about teaching is far more selfish. It’s great when kids learn and all, but I went into this job because I thought it would gratify me.* And it has.  So without further ado, here are 7 Things I Selfishly Love About Teaching:

*For those lacking a sense of humor, this article should not be taken all that seriously.

1. A Captive Audience (Literally)

When you get to be my age, you think you know things and you want to tell people (hence, this blog). But most adults don’t really want to hear those things because they have their own things they think they know. Students, however, are stuck with me. I get to tell them stories, dispense advice, show my favorite YouTube videos, and read them awesome books. They have to listen! (Well, okay, technically they don’t have to listen, but I can convince myself that they are listening, which is pretty much the same thing.)

2. Appreciation of Fart Poems

I write poems sometimes. Gross ones. My wife doesn’t like them. My daughter pretends not to. There are always a few mature students who claim to not like them either. But most kids love my poems. These kids are my inspiration. What’s that? You want to read one of my fart poems? Well, okay then!

My father’s farts are powerful,
they punch you in the face.
My mother’s farts are delicate,
full of elegance and grace.
Grandma’s farts are old and stale,
you don’t want to be near them.
But granddad’s farts are loud and wet,
as offensive as Eminem.
My teacher never farts,
there’s something wrong with her.
If my preacher ever farted,
it would probably smell like myrrh.
One time my doctor farted,
I don’t think it was on purpose.
She coughed and it just happened,
maybe she was nervous.
My brother’s farts are frequent,
he lets loose all the time.
But my farts are clearly perfect,
just like this final rhyme.

3. I’m a Hero At Least Once a Week

I teach in a portable. We have our own bathroom. Which is nice, except when the toilet clogs. It clogs often. I could call maintenance and have them plunge it, but I’m a man with a fair amount of experience plunging toilets. I probably plunge our classroom toilet 40 times a year. Each time I do, I emerge victorious, with arms raised in an V. To those students who’ve been holding it, no greater hero ever existed. Eat your heart out, Ironman.

4. Being Treated Like a Celebrity

I don’t live in the same town where I teach. In the summer, I therefore rarely run into students. But during the school year, a short trip to Wal-mart almost always results in the full celebrity treatment. Students shout my name. They point me out to their parents. They run up to me and then appear unsure of exactly what to do next. They take selfies with me.* It’s like being famous, without the paparazzi, mindless interviews, overwhelming need for approval, drug habits, divorces, and money. It’s the best.

*They don’t take selfies with me, but that’s because they’re eight and most don’t have phones. At least, that’s what I tell myself.

5. Sleep

I’ve always been a good sleeper. It drives my wife nuts how quickly I can be out once I close my eyes. But I am a GREAT sleeper during the school year. Nothing wipes you out like teaching, and even though I’m writing a book about how to stave off teacher exhaustion, some days just do you in even if you know all the tricks. The feeling of hitting the hay after one of these days is exquisite.

6. Weight Maintenance

I’m sure there are teachers who have an easier time managing their weight during the summer. I’m not one of them. Although it’s easier to exercise during the summer, it’s also easier to eat. And beer is a problem. Also ice cream. I’m sometimes bored during the middle of the day, so I eat. I’m never bored at school, and as mentioned in my book The Teacher’s Guide to Weight Loss, one strategy I use during the school year is to eat the same low-calorie lunch every day. I don’t do this during the summer, so it’s nice to get back to work and not have to run so many miles to maintain my weight.

7. Weekends Are Extra Awesome

Weekends are always wonderful, but they just aren’t that special in the summer. In fact, I often stay home during summer weekends because everyone else is out there doing stuff and getting in my way.  I  just go on a Tuesday. During the school year, weekends are gold. They are the two days during the week you can live it up. They feel like a reward. You know how people say we wouldn’t appreciate the sun if it weren’t for rainy days? (Do people say this?) Well, weekends are like that.

And yes, I realize that in that analogy teaching is the rainy day and I said this was going to be a positive post. But whatever. Analogies are hard. A lot harder than plunging toilets and writing fart poems.