Sandwich

     Six years ago, I decided to quit teaching and stay home with my daughter. When she was three and my son was one, divorce struck our family and I freaked out about finances. So, to get my foot in the door, I took a part-time job teaching elementary art one day a week. It wasn't much but it helped my peace of mind and allowed me to network.
     What does this have to do with a sandwich? The back story is necessary because it explains my inexperience in shuffling kids and a career. The exhaustion nearly killed me and the guilt from leaving my babies was relentless. I felt like a zombie most days I taught because my kids would wake up two or three times a night and they did not take a break just because I had to work the next day.
     Another thing that gave me trouble was time management. I allowed myself just enough time to get ready for work in the morning. What I mean, is that I did not allow for unexpected problems. So if my son was crying for me or if my daughter needed help in the bathroom, I would begin to run late. It did not happen often which is probably why I neglected to fix the problem but it did happen.
     One morning, as I was making my lunch, my son interrupted me. I picked him up and took about five minutes to console him then I threw my food in a bag, grabbed my school stuff and ran out the door.
     I taught for three hours then collapsed onto my desk chair. I was tired and starving. I opened up my lunch, pulled out my sandwich and took a huge bite. What the? It did not taste right, or taste at all. When I investigated my meal I found two pieces of bread...and nothing more.
     My lack of sleep, children's issues and time management problems had finally caught up to me and the price was starvation. The bread hit the spot for about five minutes and left me with a rumbling stomach for the remainder of the school day.