Monday mornings are typically difficult. I’m usually in a hangover from the weekend. Not an actual, drunken hangover. But quite similar – where you wake up, reality kicks in, and all you really need is a couple more hours of sleep.

I’ve mentioned this to somebody before and their response to me was, “That probably just means you don’t like your job.” 

I can’t remember who that somebody was, but they definitely didn’t see my face yesterday when I was reunited with my children.

 

They didn’t see the smile that stayed plastered on my face from the beginning of the day to the very end.

 

They didn’t feel the way my heart leaped when I saw each of my kids and we ran toward each other [in slow motion, obviously] for hugs and squeezes and high fives.

 

They also didn’t feel how much my heart ached when I looked at the calendar and saw how many days were left in the school year. How many days were left until I have to part ways with some of our future KIPPsters.

They don’t know.

They have no idea.

How could they?

I am the fortunate one that gets to feel all the things.

I am the fortunate one. Because I am absolutely, positively, ridiculously, head-over-heels in love with my job. 

 

Questions of the Day:

• Which day is the hardest day to drag yourself out of bed?
  
• Are you doing what you love? If the answer is no, why not?