Apparently I’m the Grown-Up in Charge

There are moments in life when you realize you have become an adult.

Not because you bought a house.

Not because you started contributing to a retirement account.

Not because you suddenly developed strong opinions about interest rates or orthopedic shoes.

No.

Sometimes you realize you are an adult because someone hands you responsibility for a room full of one- and two-year-olds and says, essentially:

You got this.

Do I?

Because I would like to see the evidence.

Somewhere along the way, I became the person who is supposed to know what we are doing today.

Not just keeping everyone alive. Not just changing diapers, serving snacks, wiping noses, breaking up tiny territorial disputes, and explaining for the four-hundredth time that our friends are not for biting.

Now there are lesson plans.

Curriculum.

Individual plans.

Intentional Teaching Experiences.

Mighty Minutes.

These are actual things.

Apparently I am supposed to know what they mean.

The funny thing is that toddlers remain completely unimpressed by my promotion to Person Who Is Supposed to Know Things.

I can have an activity carefully planned.

I can have developmental goals.

I can have materials prepared.

I can have an entire educational philosophy behind what we’re about to do.

And someone will immediately eat the crayon.

Welcome to early childhood education.

There is something deeply humbling about trying to facilitate a meaningful learning experience while another human being is lying facedown on the floor because you wouldn’t let them carry six cups at the same time.

And yet, somehow, this is my job.

More importantly, these tiny people are looking at me like I know what I’m doing.

Which is terrifying.

Because there have been days lately when I very much do not feel like I know what I’m doing.

There are days when everyone seems determined to get hurt at the exact same time.

There are days when nobody brings their listening ears.

There are nap times that make me reconsider every career decision I have ever made.

There are moments when I think, I cannot possibly be the person responsible for all of this.

And then somebody needs their shoe put back on.

Somebody wants a hug.

Somebody proudly brings me a toy like they have just discovered buried treasure.

Somebody finally does the thing we’ve been practicing for weeks.

And I realize that being the grown-up in charge apparently doesn’t mean feeling like the grown-up in charge.

Maybe nobody actually feels that way.

Maybe adulthood is mostly looking around for someone more qualified, realizing they’re not coming, and doing your best anyway.

Which is both comforting and horrifying.

I still don’t know exactly what I’m doing.

I’m learning the curriculum.

I’m learning the classroom.

I’m learning the kids.

I’m learning what works and what absolutely does not.

I’m learning that an activity you think will occupy toddlers for fifteen minutes can last approximately forty-three seconds.

I’m learning that silence is suspicious.

I’m learning that “gentle hands” may be the most repeated phrase in the English language.

And I’m learning that sometimes being the grown-up in charge means showing up the next morning after a terrible day and trying again.

Apparently that’s enough to start with.

Although I would still like to speak to whoever approved my promotion.