Yesterday I asked one of my former students and now longtime friend Joe Davis an out-of-the-blue question.

“What do you remember about being in my class fifteen years ago?”

It is a question every teacher longs to ask the adult versions of their students, but rarely has the opportunity.

You see, this time every year, after getting readjusted to being a full-time mom all summer, kicks off my annual frenzied soul-searching. I think of how I’ve gone from blonde to gray correcting papers, planning lessons, collecting data, battling behaviors, fighting with copy machines and soothing temperamental parents. I think of all the things I miss during the school year—like making nice dinners, taking long walks, girls’ night with friends, day trips with my family, reading bedtime stories. And the question begins to gnaw at me sometime in the middle of every August: Can I do this for another year?

Joe Davis’s reply was instantaneous. “I remember the Jolly Ranchers,” he wrote. “I remember you had a chart for who read the most books, and Michelle Tedford destroyed everyone. I remember I sat next to Derek Tomlinson and Tommy Felix.”

Joe Davis is a guy’s guy, and I knew it would take some prodding. Now a social media manager, PR coordinator and sports marketer, I still picture him as that 13-year-old kid with the Red Sox jersey sitting in my language arts class, with that half-amused expression of someone sitting back and watching the show.

Even back then he was a straight-shooter. Once he composed an entire essay about the absurdity and pointlessness of my topic-of-the-day. So I knew he wouldn’t humor me by saying something I wanted to hear.

“OK, it’s not really the specific details I’m after,” I clarified. “It’s more the big picture. Like, how did I make you feel? Were you happy sitting in my classroom, or were you bored out of your mind? Did you actually retain anything I attempted to impart in your brain about reading or writing?”

This time, his response wasn’t so instantaneous. After a moment, I saw the dancing bubbles that indicated he was typing his response. I held my breath and waited. Was it all worth it? Did my entire career mean anything at all?

Finally, the key to my quest popped onto my screen.

“Well,” he expounded, “I must have liked you, cause I still talk to you.”

And with that, the deal was sealed.

Onward, academic year 2016-17!

Today one of my fourth-graders informed me that students are guaranteed 60 minutes of recess each day, and by detaining her to complete last night’s homework, I was, in fact, breaking the law.

It’s that kind of sass that’s going to land her a dreaded spot in recess detention until the end of June.

That, and my nomination for next year’s Union President.

A riveting match of decimals baseball was interrupted in my classroom today when Joseph, a dark, spirited boy with a thick French accent who can perform all operations of decimals in his head, leaped out of his seat and bolted to the window so fast I thought he’d shatter it.

“Miss! Miss! Is that snow?” he cried.

Before I had a chance to answer, he erupted into dance—a dance joyful enough to summon the snow gods—eyes wide, hands outstretched, as though he were chasing flurries through an imaginary snow globe.