Like so many others, throughout my week I wear many hats. Some moments, I’ve got my practical mommy bandana tied over my hair. I’m driving lunch money to my daughter, after I had chastised her for dragging her feet when she wanted me to dig it out of my purse before she got her shoes on to leave for school. Or when my son informs me, in the middle of the night, that he’s had an accident and now I have to change his sheets, again.
Other times, I have my teacher advocate baseball cap firmly fastened, brim tipped up so I won’t miss anything the Central OEA folks have to say about our illustrious governor. I’ve got my red pen in hand, just waiting to see what I need to do next.
Then there’s the moments I’ve got my bedazzled headband holding back my hair, as I smile fetchingly for my husband, who has always believed I can do whatever I set my mind to.
Let’s not forget the moments I have my wide brimmed gardener’s hat shading my face, as I pull the weeds in the jungle that is the traumatic life of some of my students.
Or when I have my fedora set rakishly atop my hair, and we read Supreme Court decisions for our Mock Trial team.
Maybe I’ve got my Geek Squad beret, riding to the rescue of the teacher who left her video at home and needs to stream Netflix in 1st period.
Or maybe I’m shining up my police hat, as I chastise playdough boy for disrupting not only his own learning, but that of an entire class.
Really, Fridays ought to be the moment when I can just take the hats off, and be myself.
Who is that, again?