I get weepy when I’m tired.
With me getting all manic at night, then Trucker getting all manic at 5 am, I’ve been tired a lot lately.
For example, this morning I could not hold back my tears as I watched the ridiculously precious “Baby Signing Time” DVD, in which the over-the-top Rachel teaches sign language to babies via song. The song “Tiny Hands,” complete with lots of footage of babies made me burst into tears. Babies grow up. How sad and happy. Waah. My recently-baby sons probably thought I was a loon.
This afternoon, I took my class to see a Mexican Dance show. We get to study Mexico in third grade, you know. I turned to look at my students. My children — especially the ones from Mexico — were completely engaged, leaning forward, smiling at each other. The girl next to me whispered, “My grandmother is from Veracruz!” as the white-dressed dancers tippy-toed on to the stage with candles on their heads to dance “La Bruja.” Waterworks. I can’t keep it together. They must be so excited to finally see their culture represented at school. And how can I include all of my kids from Bangladesh and the one from Yemen and the one from Pakistan, if the only other country we’ll get to study is China?
Later, it was in the doctor’s office. I finally got to the urogynocologist. I’ll blog about that tomorrow. I was crying in her office before she actually arrived. Crying because for fifteen months I thought I’d have to live with this annoying pelvic floor situation. I thought it was something I’d have to live with. I felt a little foolish and a lot grateful. So I cried again.
And now, I think I really ought to go to bed so I can get some teaching done tomorrow, teaching instead of sniffling.