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                                                        It happens every August. 

Dreams. They come all the time but in August they take on a tempo and code that is predictable yet nonetheless unsettling.
August dreams for teachers run something like this: the first day arrives and there are no books, no desks, and somehow the teacher has forgotten to decorate the classroom.

There she sits, at her desk, in all her glory, sporting pajamas and bed head.
"Good morning, children, since there is no place to sit anyway, let's begin with the pledge to the flag."

The teacher turns and on the flag pole hangs a flag from a country she does not recognize. That's when she realizes her students do not speak English, she does know their language, her passport is not in her pajama pocket, and the police sirens she hears approaching are in pursuit of her.

Thank God for being able to wake up.

Mine run a bit differently because I am an itinerant teacher (traveling to different schools throughout the day) and I work with blind and visually impaired students. In my dreams it is May and I am traveling to a school to meet parents for the spring conference. On the way I realize I have never even MET the kid. EVER. His name is ALWAYS Kevin.

I reach into my backpack and grab his folder. Empty. Just a name on a folder and I can't even make out his last name.

I glance past the file and notice I am in mismatched shoes.

I am now late because I have driven to the wrong school. My phone is dead so I can not call ahead. I careen madly out of the parking lot crying and wondering how I will break it to the parents that the braille books were never ordered so Kevin has to repeat second grade for the third time because this happened last year too.

My eyes pop open, my heart pumps vigorously,  but I am grateful to be awake. In a sweat. In a panic. My pajamas in a twist, and a sob in my throat. But awake.

I shake the dust of that dream out of my head but its tone follows me through the day.
                                                     It happens every Labor Day. 
The school stomach ache. I try to fend it off by spending August preparing. Books ordered, teachers contacted, wardrobe ready for the first day, backpack vigorously overstuffed, and yes, ALL the kids meticulously included in my schedule.

But the "Mom, I need to stay home from school tomorrow," stomach always emerges Labor Day weekend.

                                        It happens every new School Year Eve.

The night before school I never have to worry about dreaming about Kevin because I simply don't sleep. If I do, thoughts rush through my brain like water through a broken fire hydrant so that sleep is anything but rest. I dress while it is still dark, ignore the stomach ache, and pause at the door to make sure my shoes match.

                                               It happens every First Day of School. 

I spot my students, mostly the same ones year after year. As they disembark the bus I note that they are taller, summer-tanned, and walking with more confidence.  I call them by name and they smile broadly.

They are so excited and scared about this new school year. We quickly swap stomach ache and bad dream stories, and then enter the school building. Another year begins.

                                                            It happens Every Time.

I thank God for giving me a job that so well suits my personality.   I can not wait to get started.