This weekend is a three-day weekend. Midterm exams begin next week, and because of a combination of poor planning and some classes full of challenging students whose talents took longer than normal to tap into, I have 120 papers to grade. The papers for my 10th grade classes are only around three pages long and don’t require comments because they are revisions; one of the AP essays is roughly the same length but harder to grade because they need feedback on their writing before the midterm. The other set of essays runs anywhere from six to eight pages long. My grading time has slowed dramatically in the last several years; I’m finding it harder to concentrate and more difficult to sustain focus for long periods of time. The last time I graded a class set of timed writes, it took me about two hours. Multiply that by two, that’s four hours for one assignment, if I can focus. The creative writing from my sophomores will probably take the same. That’s eight hours. I’ve been steadily working my way through the narratives my AP students wrote; although they are interesting to read, they are slow going and take me about 5-7 minutes apiece. If I’m lucky, I will get through all of those in another eight hours. How long is that? 16 hours.
I’m both vindicated and stymied by figuring that the grading I need to do for my classes will take two full days of work to complete, for these are hours I do not have in my regular work day. Instead, I graded papers on Friday night while listening to Wilco; I’m no longer able to fool myself into thinking I can grade papers
and watch TV at the same time. Saturday I taught an AP review session at a neighboring high school, then endured long lines and weary parents with toddlers in tow at Costco, spent a few precious minutes napping with my girlfriend, then went back out to pick up the last of the things we needed for hosting a brunch the next day. After spending an hour prepping and cooking for the brunch, a baby shower for my girlfriend’s soon-to-arrive new baby, we headed to a friend’s for dinner. Although the brunch only lasted for a couple of hours, I was exhausted by the time everyone left. We cleaned, napped, and then after my girlfriend left for work–overnight inventory–I settled in on the sofa to grade more papers. I worked until my eyes were bleary–about 10 p.m., and shuffled off to bed.
This morning, I slept in until the dog started sounding the alarm that she needed to go outside and enjoy the day (as well as relieve her bladder, I am sure). I made coffee and sat down to work, working steadily (and proud of myself for doing so) from 10:00 a.m. until 4:30 p.m. I also need to check in on my online students, who are taking a college course that I facilitate on Blackboard. They’ve submitted introduction videos I need to watch that run roughly three minutes apiece; I have 18 students in that class so it should take me about an hour to grade them. Luckily, I can do that this evening. The dog shakes her head at me, indicating she’d rather be outside than cooped up in the house with me. I open the door and realize it’s gotten dark out. Guess I’m not going for a walk today, I ruefully tell myself. I haven’t left the house in two days.
As I grapple with the weekend’s end, I simultaneously feel grateful that my ex-husband decided to take the kids snowboarding for the three-day weekend and angry that I wasn’t spending the long weekend having fun with them. I’m glad I was able to get through most of the work on my plate; I still have my 10th graders’ essays to grade but can finish them at school tomorrow. But I’m angry that this is the way I need to spend my spare time in order to avoid the anxiety and stress of papers piling up and students inquiring when they’ll get feedback or when their grades will be updated. I’m also angry that my ex doesn’t seem bothered by these same anxieties. He teaches English as well, and has almost double the number of students I do. So how is it that he can afford to spend an entire weekend playing?
It isn’t only the time; I never understood how he found time to do all of the things he did–it’s also the energy and the money. How is it that he can justify owning two cars and two motorcycles; taking weekend trips in rented condos for full-day snowboarding lessons for the kids and a day on the slopes for himself? At this point in our lives, I understand that although his energy is infinite, his other resources are not. He lives as if they are, though, which seems to yield better results for him than the safe way I approach planning my time and money. There are days when I am thankful my children are getting exposed to the things I want them to see and be able to do, even if it’s not me who is providing those experiences. But then there are days, like today, that I am resentful that I do not seem to be finding the same work-life balance that he has; or maybe, that I am not comfortable living an imbalance that tips the other way.
(mostly) full disclosure 