Let me be clear: I’m not new here. I am a 20 year veteran teacher.
I know what I’m doing.
I’ve planned meaningful lessons. I’ve got clear routines. I’ve built relationships. I’ve taught content through passion projects, digital tools, games, and group work. I’ve modified. I’ve differentiated. I’ve stayed after, eaten lunch at my desk, and answered parent emails at 9:42 PM on a Sunday.

But here we are. May.
And the kids?
They’re done.

Like, “Is this for a grade?” done.                                                                                              Like, “What are we even doing right now?” done.
Like, “Can I just stare at a wall or sleep?” done.                                                          Like, “Why are we actually doing work?” done.

And no, it’s not me. It’s not my planning. It’s not a lack of structure. It’s not that I didn’t do enough social-emotional learning in September.
It’s simply… that we’re in the final stretch of the school year. Testing is done, and they’ve officially crossed the threshold into chaos.

There’s a particular kind of absurdity that settles over a classroom in late May.
One moment, a kid is passionately presenting a group project, and the next, someone else is trying to convince me that recess has to be a state standard we haven’t covered.
I confiscated a fidget suction cup toy that seems to be more distracting than calming, yesterday. That’s where we are.

It’s not burnout on my part.
I’m still showing up. Still holding space. Still trying. Still having expectations.
But the ratio of effort to actual learning has gone wildly out of sync.

So, this isn’t a cry for help.
It’s not a teachable moment.
It’s not a call to rethink our systems or implement a new end-of-year strategy.

It’s just a moment of truth. A nod to every teacher who’s looked around their room lately and thought:
“I swear, I’m good at this. I went through years of college and have a degree in what I teach. The kids are just… done.”

And that’s okay.We’ll get through it.
Not with a revolutionary idea. Not with a new seating chart.
But with snacks, sarcasm, venting to a colleage, and the unshakable knowledge that summer is coming.
Eventually.
Probably.
Please.