Conferences, Candy, and Certification Panic
Nothing says fall like candy wrappers, conference notes, and a mild panic attack about your teaching certificate.
This past week has been a juggling act, half-day schedules, prepping for conferences, and still managing to squeeze in some actual learning between costume chatter and bell schedules that make no sense. Somehow, lessons got taught, papers got graded, and one ambitious art project took about four times longer than planned. You know the one, the “quick and easy” idea that seemed cute online until 25 kids needed repeated directions, reminders to stay on task, and redefining patience.
And honestly? I loved it.
Parent-teacher conferences reminded me why I still do this. It’s the sweet spot between “we’re all exhausted” and “look how much they’ve grown.” Hearing parents talk about how proud they are, seeing kids beam when we celebrate their progress, that’s the good stuff. That’s the part that makes the grading, the meetings, and the endless prep worth it.
But then I sat down to check my professional clock hours, because apparently, teaching every day doesn’t count as professional development. For those who don’t live in teacher world: clock hours are training hours we have to complete to keep our teaching certificates current. In Washington, that’s 100 hours every five years.
I’m sixteen hours short of renewing my certificate. Sixteen! And even though it doesn’t expire until the end of June, I have to apply for renewal by January 1st. So now, on top of lesson plans and conference notes, I’ll be signing up (and paying for) online courses to meet the requirement. Because nothing says “holiday season” quite like fees, forms, and PowerPoints titled Advanced Strategies for Data-Driven Engagement in Tier 2 Reading Interventions.
Still, even with the frustration, this fall has felt good. This class, this school, this district, they’ve brought my spark back. I actually enjoy walking into the building again. I feel proud of the work we’re doing.
So maybe I’ll spend a week or two of late nights clicking through clock-hour courses, hot cocoa in hand, pretending it’s all part of the festive season. Because underneath the stress and the silliness, there’s that steady heartbeat of why we stay: we love our kids, our classrooms, and the chance to make a little magic, even if the state wants a timestamp for it.
