For me, the first two quarters of school always seem to scream by like a flashy and wild, red roller coaster. The sticky, candy apple grin of newness wearing off day by day as classroom communities are built, new friendships begin and the demands of my profession muscle themselves to the front of the line. Before I know it, routine is the norm and Thanksgiving and Christmas have snuck up, caught me off guard and are pulling at my coat sleeves with expectation.

Like many teachers across the district, I am feeling the pressure of the holiday crunch. Deadlines feel like they are creeping up faster, school and social calendars seem to be filling up with frightening speed.  Holiday gifts need to be made and classroom parties must be planned. Parents and students are squeezing every last minute of time out of their days and stress is building. I can taste it in the air. I feel a breeze created by to-do lists that buzz around my head, just out of reach, refusing to be completed. It seems like the movement never stops — until it suddenly does.

Last Friday I found myself at one of those freaky stopping moments. At 5 a.m. I was sitting alone in my living room, the glow of my laptop screen searing my sleepy eyes into focus. With trembling hands and a heart that honestly felt as though it would pound right out of my chest, I logged onto the National Board for Professional Teaching Standards Web site. I’m certain I held my breath as I keyed in the passwords and codes (forgetting my candidate ID number momentarily — we’ll call that a lack of coffee) to receive scores for my application for National Board Certification. “Congratulations! You are a National Board Certified Teacher!” It was early — really early — so my golden retriever Georgia was the only soul to witness the huge smile and “Yes!” I silently screamed at the top of my lungs. Now, I could say that the birds began to sing, my cares melted away, and the day suddenly seemed brighter with pressures of school no longer weighing on my mind, but that would be cliché and quite inaccurate. What did happen was better.

Entering my classroom later that morning, I found myself paying attention in a different kind of way. I marveled at the environment. Child-centered, organized and open. I smirked at the shoes scattered across the floor of the coat closet, a sure sign of comfortable and secure children. The leaning piles of papers on my desk waiting to be graded even gave me a little grin. My eyes brushed my student artwork wall of fame, rows of brightly colored drawings giggled back at me.

On this day, the everyday and sometimes peculiar mix of mundane and demanding sparked my thinking, and my wonderful, tragic, amazing and heartbreaking job took on a new shine. I really don’t think it was my momentous morning news exactly (though that didn’t hurt). I think it was because I had been told, in no uncertain terms, that I was doing something right. The fancy word for that is validation, but I prefer to think that it was simply time, slowing down just enough for me to recognize and acknowledge something important. My work, no matter how hectic, nuts and challenging it sometimes can be, makes a difference in the lives of others. I’m pretty sure that’s at the heart of what most teachers want.  We want to know that what we do inspires children to learn, to grow and change, and even though we likely won’t say it out loud, we want someone to notice.  Not because we want accolades or awards, but because it feels good to know someone sees.

It’s been a week now, and the pressure of the holiday season is back in the forefront of my mind.  I am again dreading the crunch of the upcoming weeks and the energy it’s going to take to make it through successfully with 23 children in tow. Like all good Type A personalities though, I have a plan. I’m paying it forward by sharing my gratitude with the teachers of my own two children. It’s not about thanking someone for doing their job really. It’s about slowing down the roller coaster, just for a second, to slap a high five as we scream by one another. Gratitude doesn’t have to be fancy, or wrapped in a box, or even verbal. It can be as simple as finally catching hold of that fluttering to-do list and cramming it into your pocket because in reality, what matters is what makes us pause, breathe deeply, and smile — no matter what’s on our plates or our calendars.  So thank you, Noema Abbott, Pamela Hunner, Lisa Donnaly and all of the teachers who have touched the lives of my kids.  I see you, and I appreciate everything you do.

Vanessa Powell is a National Board Certified fifth-grade teacher at Snowshoe Elementary School. Her Chalk Talk column appears every four  weeks.