Bittersweet

The first week of online learning went pretty smoothly, other than a few tech issues.
I feel like I've been going nonstop since Monday, emailing, downloading, creating videos, video chatting, conferencing, setting up, typing and going between my laptop, phone, and iPad like a mad scientist.
I made video tutorials and set up activities. I video chatted with all my kids and parents. I read my books, approved a million Seesaw posts, and encouraged them to continue to work hard.
The kids did great in turning in their work, staying motivated and working hard at home, and parents have been so supportive during this transition time.

But why do I feel so sad? I can barely see my keyboard as I type through my tears.

Why does it feel wrong?

Maybe because I'm thinking of all the things we should be doing.

We should be learning multiplication, which they couldn't wait to learn. We should be having recess and sharing silly stories together.

What are you having for lunch Ms. Kang? Wanna hear a joke? Here's a flower for you.

I should be hearing those words. I should be getting those incessant, never ending hugs that prompted me to say, "It's your recess, go play!"

I should be in class cracking corny jokes that they only laugh at and teach them words like flabbergasted just to get a big reaction out of them. And getting grand compliments for my stick figure illustrations.

I should be reminding them to walk quietly down the hall as they say thank you in different languages when I give them hand sanitizer and I respond 'you're welcome' in that same language. Sometimes I remember the made up name they went by one day the class earned a reward to go by a different name.

They should be telling me to have a good lunch, and 'Did you have a good lunch, Ms. Kang?" when I pick them up.

I should be hearing my alarms go off for attendance, recess, computer lab, specials, and countless other things I won't remember unless I hear those tunes.
I should be losing my patience with them only to quickly forgive them with a smile and they say "It's ok, Ms. Kang."
I should be giving them a high five, handshake, or hug and saying, "Have a good weekend."
"See you tomorrow."
"See you Monday."

But it's been three weeks since our last goodbye. And I don't know when I will see them face to face again. We should have had 9 more weeks together in the classroom. 9 more weeks of memories. 3 more field trips. End of year projects and excitement over rearranged seats and published class books and handmade yearbooks. A class picture.

It's like our grieving period and time to say goodbye was taken away; when students leave us for the next grade, it's certainly sad and bittersweet, but we prepare for that. But this. This was unexpected.
All these things make me sad. And despite the good things, I can't help having the bitter seeping in.

But it's only because all the memories we've had have been so sweet. I hope they remember those moments. I hope I do too.

As I reflect and regroup this weekend and as I go into week two, I hope I can let go of what should have been, and focus on what I will do.

I will keep teaching my kids. I will stay connected and love and care and be the teacher they need me to be.

So these may not be the moments I expected to have, but I'm going to make new memories. And when I see my students again, whether it's 9 weeks from now, or in August, I will hug them and say, "I missed you." And I can tell them I'll see them again. Because I will.