Welcome To The DOE

Now that I’ve had a bit of time to process the past few months, I’m ready to share that I started a new job at the Department of Education, and it’s been a major shift. The opportunity came up, and it was supposed to be “easy”—out by 3 pm, all the holidays, and allow me time to still work as a graphic designer. It provides supplemental income, stability, and health insurance. The last few years of chasing freelance checks, unable to find a full-time job, the mortgage, and all the life things were just too much.

I started on March 10th. I’m a Family Associate, supporting the school psychologists with Individual Education Programs (IEPs). What I didn’t expect was also helping with morning arrival—essentially being a crossing guard—and then covering two lunch periods with spilled milk, aerial chicken nuggets, and the kids.

I felt like I plunged into the middle of the ocean without knowing how to swim.

First thing in the morning, I put on a neon yellow reflective vest, welcome the kids to school, and make sure they don’t get hit by a car. It’s a lot of smiling, talking to parents, and being “on.” A switch from being home for the past 10 years with my three cats, whom I sometimes talked to when I felt lonely. All kinds of weather – I get cold easily, so that’s been an adjustment—and one day my feet were soaked from rain, all day long. I’ve learned to be more prepared and resilient.

My mind is blown by how difficult it is to work in a school—I’m humbled and have a new respect for everyone involved in educating children, in all their roles. And thank you, teachers.

You live and you learn.

During the day, I use fax machines, a paper shredder, and a PC with non-user-friendly software—new things that send my nervous system into the red zone. It’s funny because I’m tech‑savvy (at least after the 2000s), but I couldn’t figure out how to use the buttons on the gigantic copy machine. One day, I needed to scan documents into Sesis, and it seemed there was a dead mouse lodged in the machine. It was a big thing in the main office. It ended up being a dead bird between the glass and the screen of the nearby window. But still.

A lot of tasks come my way verbally, so I have to remember and write them down, but then I can’t read my handwriting. I feel my brain has adapted to keyboards and forgotten how to use a pen. I have a filing cabinet with those plastic colored slip divider things that I have now labeled.

I photocopied pictures of my head one morning when no one was around. It was liberating.

I take a break from the low-tech world for lunch—not my lunch, though, the kids’— honestly, it might be the hardest part of my day. The cafeteria is sensory overload: bright lights, loud voices, whistles, and kids in overdrive — gummy bears, Minecraft lunch boxes, tiny dolls, and Pikachu—who I now know is a squirrel. I slip on mystery sauce almost every day. I’m managing meltdowns and big emotions from little people. I am trying to resolve disputes meaningfully. I aim to treat each situation with respect, not dismiss them just because they’re over stolen Takis.

This represents future conflicts, right? And how they’ll learn to handle them starts now. I’m trying to use common sense and kindness, I have no training. I have no idea what I’m doing. Why was I hired? I’m mostly learning from the kids, observing and taking in as much information as I can. My mind is blown by how difficult working in a school is—I am humbled. I’m fried by 3 p.m.

Teachers—thank you.

After lunch, we go outside for recess. There’s one girl in 4th period who does forward rolls almost the whole time. I have a whistle and hate to use it. I can’t manage to get 26 eight-year-old kids into two straight lines with no talking. Sign’s up! I call them “my adorable blob.”  Because our line is never straight. I’ve lost my temper many times and then apologized. The kids appreciate being treated like real humans. The children like me. They said they will miss me over the summer, and I miss them too.

So much soccer! One day, the ball went over the fence, and the kids begged me to get it. Of course I would. I jogged around in my flat, beige, pointed shoes. Hubert urged me to throw it over. I couldn’t make it. Caesar rallied me on! A crowd of boys gathered, all giving instructions and rooting me on, “Ms. Paula, higher!” After many tries, I finally got the soccer ball over the tall chain‑link fence, and the kids roared and cheered for me! They taught me to keep trying, never give up. My eyes welled with tears, and I wanted to cry. Maybe this is why I am here?

I haven’t learned how to swim yet, but I’ve gotten really good at treading water.

Note: The important things happening in my life, I push aside and delay writing about because it all feels too big. I get caught up thinking, I need to include every detail, and then tell myself I’ll write it when I have more time. So I have several half‑written “life” columns like this one that I haven’t shared. It’s just easier to write about peanuts and potatoes.

This week I decided to just go for it and get something down about this new chapter. I’ve missed details—it’s not exactly how I want it, but here it is. I can always say more another time. There’s more time than you think.