Give a girl a chalkboard…

My work shoes, covered in chalk and ready to call it quits for the day.

My work shoes, covered in chalk and ready to call it quits for the day.

I distinctly remember the first profound thought I had as a kid – that is to say, the first big thought, beyond “I like fish sticks,” “This girl is weird,” and “Why does Deborah get shoes with Dalmatians and I don’t?” I was sitting in my kindergarten class, cringing as the teacher scribbled on the chalkboard. Every week I told myself the scratching chalk wouldn’t bother me anymore, but every week it did. As I sat crisscross-applesauce on the dusty floor with my little fingers awkwardly plugging my ears I thought to myself, “This will bother me the rest of my life…That could be a problem.”

It is a problem.

Never did I assume I would become a school teacher, though it is one of the jobs I have romanticized about over the years. And all the things I thought I would love about teaching, I do. I love kids saying ‘hello’ to me in the hallway (I LOVE my students). I love pulling little people out of their comfort zones and showing them how much they can accomplish. I love pinning things on my noticeboard in my office (which I also love).

But the chalkboard…

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