This morning my wife did something she never does: she turned off her alarm clock and stayed in bed.
It was just 15 minutes or so, but it was long enough that I got up before her. It was nice to just lay there for a bit longer, she said.
Highly unusual.
We’re two days into the teachers strike and my life is already turning upside down.
Normally, on school days, she sets her alarm for 6:15 a.m. and wakes up immediately. She throws open our back door, letting a rush of cold air run in to “air things out.” She makes our kids’ breakfast and lunches simultaneously. Our apartment comes alive with a buzz of activity to get us out the door by 7:30 a.m. to get to my son’s elementary school, which, like, most in the city, starts promptly at 7:50 a.m. I’m making beds, getting clothes and water bottles filled, and chauffeuring.
According to a public school teacher I know who asked not to be named as she’s not authorized to speak on behalf of the school district, her morning was more unusual than mine. The United Educators of San Francisco told her to be at the school she works at by 7:30 a.m. this morning, and then relocate to a picket at a different school the union is targeting. “They could’ve at least started us at 9 a.m. like normal people,” the teacher said.
The teacher described conflicting information from the union about teachers convening at Dolores Park or Civic Center Plaza at noon to march to a rally at SFUSD headquarters at 555 Franklin. She said she was surprised by the high energy level on the picket line today, with more “dancing and excitement and chanting” than yesterday. Despite that, “People want it to end,” especially because it’s supposed to rain tomorrow, she said. “Everyone wants to go back to work.”
By the end of the conversation, my son had woken up and immediately dug into his pile of Legos.
The apartment was filled with the smell of blueberry muffins my wife had baked. Compared to my source, we were enjoying an easier start than usual. It was almost like a holiday.
That feeling was short lived, though. My teenage daughter would soon wake up, and we’d have to figure out a second day sans school. My wife granted me a bit of time to work before my shift of childcare and supervision.
“Go do your thing,” she told me. “Your time is ticking away.”
