These words came out of my mouth several times this week.  “I wish I didn’t want to be a teacher.”

This weekend I went to a brunch with one of my favorite momma friends and a couple of her employees.  She is a wonderful boss of a wonderful company, and sitting around a table eating tartlets and fancy poached eggs and drinking bottomless mimosas, I thought, I wish I didn’t want to be a teacher.  Because if I didn’t want to be a teacher, I would want to work here.  I would want to sleep in past 6 and write pretty words on a pretty blog and go to brunches and have real conversations with women over the age of 10.  And that’s where I get disappointed, because I do want to be a teacher.

For some insane reason, I want to be here.  I want to be exactly…