Mama May-a, here we go again! I’ve been out of the classroom for a few years now, but May still brings a tightness to my chest. Not an overwhelming feeling, necessarily. Just the sense that there are one million balls in the air and it is somehow my responsibility to juggle every single one. This, and every ball is more important, more impactful, more shiny than the one before. And they’re all on fire. Between graduations from Kinder to 8th to high school, spirit week, field trips, end-of-year exams, final grades, and tying a bow on the year that was…teachers are in the thick of it. So fine, maybe it feels a bit overwhelming. But it’s a celebration! It’s high fives and good vibes. It’s a pat on the back for a year well done. May’s theme is eustress, not distress, but we can be transparent here- stress is stress is stress. It’s a lot. May is fueled by caffeine, sugar, and sheer delusion. If I ever needed a spotter during the zombie apocalypse, I would dibs a teacher who is running on a triple espresso from Beans and Brews and still has glitter in her hair from Crazy Hair Day. She is unstoppable, she is fearless, and she can feel no pain. In the blur of the month, it can be tempting to make some tasks an “August problem”. Don’t fall for it. It’s a trap. As exhausted as you may feel right now, do your best to set yourself up for success once you return to school. Your future self will be thankful that you invested in her now, I promise. A few tips and tricks I’ve learned along the way, for May: Classroom Hygiene I have inherited a few classrooms over the years. Some were left in sparkling condition. Desks as clean as clean could be, considering they belonged to first graders for 180 days, stacked neatly in the middle of the room. Walls left as a blank canvas, inviting new children to share their inspiration the following year. These teachers are literal angels on earth and will enter heaven through the VIP entrance, with merely a wink and a nod to St. Peter as they float on by.

To all the nurturers, healers, teachers, and women of this world- I wish you the happiest Mother’s Day. We often talk about being cycle-breakers and healers in this generation of motherhood, and I firmly believe that the women on this planet at this time are truly doing the work of healing future generations. We are shaping a kinder, more intentional world. We observe the nuances of parenthood, our impact, and the ripple effect our choices have across generations. We are more patient, more aware, and more compassionate as we guide our babies through this wild human experience. But true healing asks for something just…a bit more. To truly heal our future, we must also forgive our past. The same grace we extend to our babies must also exist for our mothers, our grandmothers, and the aunties who came before us. The ones who never spoke of their trauma, but passed it on to their daughters and sons all the same. Whether embedded in our DNA, passed through patriarchal religion, or rooted in the belief that emotions are wrong, our mamas did the best they could with the knowledge they had. We have to believe that. Now, that forgiveness does not have to happen this very moment. Maybe today’s lesson is simply about awareness. About recognizing the hurt, the pain, and the ways it shaped you. The shift doesn’t have to happen instantaneously. Mine certainly didn’t. It took me a long time to forgive my mom for the pain she caused my babies and me- years after her death, in fact. I spent so long convinced of her bitterness, of her spite, that her memory became clouded by only her faults. It sucked. I finally reached a point where I realized she was merely a soul having a human experience- and that soul just happened to be my mom. I could no longer justify extending patience and grace to myself, my children, and my circle without offering it to her as well. I wrote her a letter on her birthday two years ago, letting her know I forgave her and that I hoped she was healing. Once I did so, I became a better, more patient, more loving mama to Danny and Jo. And not long after, Daisy was on her way- a lovely and poignant reminder of the love that is waiting for you, if only you choose to embrace it.

April is my favorite month of the year. Between birthdays and spring break and the excitement of what’s to come, this month has always had a very special place in my heart. Time seems to speed up and slow down all at once. Recesses somehow get longer, yet the days get shorter. You realize, a little too late, that time is a thief. The students you met at the beginning of the year no longer exist. Instead of being small, innocent kiddos, they’ve transformed into the scholars you’ve molded all year long. The structures you’ve worked so hard to put in place and reinforce are smooth and seamless. Your students “need” you less and less. It’s delightfully heartbreaking. And while all of this quiet transformation is happening, April also brings a lot of “talk”. Contract negotiations are well underway, and teachers decide whether they’re staying put, switching grade levels, or saying farewell. Rumors can (and will) spread as long as people continue to add kindling. In my early years as an educator, I was easily swept into the nonsense of trying to “be in the know” to feel even a semblance of control over what lay ahead. That illusion was always quickly shattered because change is inevitable, and plans made in April are often laughed at in August. All of the uncertainty and “talk” doesn’t just stay in the teacher’s lounge. Quick conversations before class turn into a game of telephone, and suddenly, information shared in confidence morphs into something that never existed in the first place. It can be a very dysregulating time for the grown-ups, which inevitably seeps into our students’ nervous systems, too. I think it’s important to (re)name that our energy is palpable and shared. When we are grounded and calm in our bodies, even if it’s chaotic around us, our students can tell. They then feel safe enough to settle, which leads to a much more enjoyable learning environment. The opposite is also true- chaotic teacher energy equals triple chaotic student energy. There have been many moments when I’ve had to pause and reflect on the energy I was bringing to my students. Often, it wasn’t even mine—it was the residue of a frustrated colleague. Once I recognized that, I could pause, reframe, and re-engage as my authentic, calm, and sometimes silly self.

So, permission to be weird. (Permission granted!) The collective is going through a pretty massive awakening. It’s not the end of the world, but rather the end of a world. We can no longer afford to be neutral while staring injustice in its horrifying, pimply, twisted face. Because nothing is ever neutral- silence is complicity. Silence gives hatred, inequity, and fear permission to continue. I often find myself frustrated with people who I consider “good” who also remain willfully ignorant, silent, and complicit in allowing broken systems to thrive (thank you, neurodivergence). While rage-running at the gym, I ripped open a memory box from one of the many psychology courses I took in college. After calling my dad, relearning a few terms, and screaming into the void, I transmuted my running rage into (mostly) coherent thoughts, which have helped me to understand why we are where we are and to (hopefully) provide insights and hope to others. Kohlberg’s theory of moral development outlines how people can progress through different levels and stages of morality. He argues that people move through each level as they get older, which I wholeheartedly disagree with, but more on that later. Growth isn’t guaranteed- it’s a choice. And a lot of people opt out. Essentially, the three levels look like this: Pre-Conventional Moral reasoning is simple and self-centered. I either avoid punishment or do something because I get something in return. For example, Mom gets mad when I hit my sibling, so I will not hit my sibling to avoid getting into trouble (not because I know that hitting hurts others). Or, I know that when I help my teacher, I get a sticker on my sticker chart. So I will help my teacher because I want to fill up my sticker chart and earn a prize (not because I value contributing). This stage is said to last from ages 3 to 9 years old (or forever, if you're a politician in Utah). Conventional Moral reasoning is guided by law and order, and by what society expects of me. I follow the rules because they're there for a reason, even if I’m not sure what that reason is. Known as the “good girl/boy” stage, I know my behavior is judged by others, and I want approval to fit in. I am a contributing member of society, and I am not going to rock the boat. Most adults land here and stay. Why? Because it’s comfortable. And humans will choose comfort over growth almost every time.

Madness? Sure. Magical? That’s up to you. The energy of March is always exciting and chaotic. The spring equinox occurs midway through the month, marking the transition from the stillness of winter to the blossoming of spring. The weather is still unpredictable; I’ve experienced snow days and shorts weather in the exact same calendar year. Students and teachers often follow suit, with behaviors emerging from hibernation just like those of our fellow woodland creatures. Personally, March has brought me its own craziness, with a middle school suspension and a near-firing after I got a bit too brave with a board member. Whoops. All that said, March Madness is appropriate alliteration and should not be tied to just college basketball. However, Magical March is just as real- if we choose to see it. Every March, I would read "Did I Ever Tell You How Lucky You Are" by Dr. Seuss. It was a perfect blend of celebrating Dr. Seuss’s birthday and St. Patrick’s Day. If you’re unfamiliar, the book goes through a list of people who live very unfortunate lives. Characters include Mr. Potter, the T-crosse, I-dotter, who has to cross t’s and dot i’s as his main source of work, and the Bee-Watcher-Watcher who watched the Bee-Watcher. Each character and storyline is sillier than the one before, and the kids giggle the entire time. Their favorite line was always: “Be grateful you’re not in the forest of France Where the average young person just hasn’t a chance To escape from the perilous pant-eating plants But your pants are safe, you’re a fortunate guy You ought to be shouting how lucky am I” Something about third graders and making sure their pants were safe delighted and intrigued them– needless to say, we read the book several times. And, in true Kell fashion, I would bring it back to gratitude- though perhaps sneakily rebranded. We would write our own version of the story to explain how we knew how lucky we were. Not only were my students grateful that their pants were safe, but they also began to see their lives as lucky rather than ordinary.