I grew up in a Mid-Michigan farm family where work ethic was next to godliness.

If there was work to be done, you did it.

If you started something, you finished it.

And you did it well.

Those weren’t just expectations—they were the foundation of who we were.

When I became a parent, it was important to me to pass this same value onto my kids.

A frequent phrase in our house was,

“When you put your name on a paper, that’s your promise to do your best.”

My daughter understood the spirit of that lesson pretty quickly.

My son…

Well…

My sweet, literal, peace-keeping, people-pleasing son heard exactly what I said.

Every assignment deserved his absolute best.

Every detail mattered.

He became the guy who would show up to a leaf-raking job with a pair of tweezers.

Okay…maybe not literally.

But emotionally? For sure.

He attacked life like everything deserved A+ effort.

Watching him taught me something I wish I had understood sooner.

I had spent years teaching him how to work hard.

I had forgotten to teach him what was worth his best hard work.

Those are two completely different skills.

Eventually he figured it out. (And I think he’s forgiven me.)

But I unintentionally made life much harder than it needed to be for a kid whose default setting was already “don’t disappoint anyone.”

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Teacher friends…

We’re doing this to ourselves every single day.

Think about your life outside of school.

Is everything getting A+ effort?

Not in my house.

The dishes are rarely caught up.

The laundry often waits two to three business days after drying to be folded and put away.

My car reminds me it needs an oil change before I remember.

And it’s pretty rare that I leave the house perfectly coordinated and coiffed.

But…

Our bills get paid.

There’s food in the refrigerator.

Our home is clean enough.

My family knows they’re loved.

Those are my A+ non-negotiables.

Everything else?

Much of it happily lives in the B range.

Lately I’ve been prioritizing strength training because I want to stay healthy and mobile as I get older.

Does every workout need to be perfect?

Absolutely not.

Unless my country suddenly needs me to come out of retirement to captain the U.S. Women’s Water Volleyball Team, my B range workout is going to be just fine.

(And I suspect Team USA is going to survive without me.)

We already do this. We make these kinds of decisions every day at home.

So why does this wisdom disappear the moment we walk into school?

Somewhere between opening day and winter break, many of us decide that everything deserves A+ effort.

Every bulletin board and lesson.

Every email and committee.

Every classroom decoration, parent interaction, meeting, PD session, volunteer opportunity.

Every piece of student work.

Every…

single…

thing.

And when we realize we can’t possibly maintain that pace?

We often don’t settle for a B. 

We jump straight to an F.

“This is unreasonable! There’s no way I can do all of this! If I can’t do it perfectly, why do it at all?”

So we avoid it.
We delay it.
We tell ourselves it doesn’t really matter anyway.

That’s classic all-or-nothing thinking.
It’s one of the sneakiest thought habits teachers carry around.

The result?

We either convince ourselves we’re justified in opting out…or we decide we’ve failed before we’ve even begun.

Either way, we’ve added one more heavy thing to a backpack that’s already overflowing with self-judgment.

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What if school wasn’t the exception?

What if it followed the same rules as the rest of our lives?

Not everything deserves A+ effort.

Some things absolutely do. Others simply don’t.

For me, anything that directly supports student learning rises to the top.

A thoughtfully planned lesson?

A+.

Building relationships?

A+.

Helping students think more deeply?

A+.

Communication, in particular, has always been one of my non-negotiables.

I honestly believe there is very little that can’t be figured out when people keep talking to one another.

So I taught, “Communication is King.”

I modeled it, practiced it, and required it from students.

That has always gotten my best.

Now…

Pinterest-worthy classroom decorations?

Not my thing. I’m a function girl through and through.

If students can learn well in the room, I’m happy.

If the teacher across the hall loves creating a classroom that belongs in a magazine, I am genuinely thrilled for them.

Have at it.

That’s their A+.

It doesn’t have to be mine.

Because if everything gets A+ effort…

Nothing really does.

Another important thing to remember about our priorities . . .

Choosing your A+ categories doesn’t mean every one of them gets A+ attention every single day.

Life doesn’t work that way.

Some days, the priority is getting eight hours of sleep because tomorrow is parent-teacher conferences.

Some days it’s drinking enough water and taking a fifteen-minute walk because your nervous system is waving a little white flag.

Some days the priority is making it to your daughter’s track meet or sitting beside your dad at a doctor’s appointment.

And some days? School simply demands more of you. Report cards are due. The musical opens tomorrow night. You’re leading professional development. You’re the key player, and it makes sense for school to move to the front of the line for a little while.

The trick isn’t balancing every priority every day.

The trick is zooming out.

That’s one of the reasons I’ve learned to plan my life by weeks instead of days.

A single Tuesday can look wildly out of balance.

But seven days? Seven days give me room to breathe.

Maybe Monday and Tuesday belong almost entirely to school.

Wednesday I finally make it to yoga.

Thursday I go to bed at 8:30 because I’m exhausted.

Friday night we’re cheering at the football game.

By Sunday I’m folding laundry (finally) and getting ready for another week.

When I look at my life through a seven-day window instead of a twenty-four-hour one, I stop trying to win every category every day.

I just keep asking,

“What deserves my A+ today?”

Tomorrow, the answer might be different.

And that’s not failure.

That’s wisdom.

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Here’s what I’ve come to believe after thirty years in education.

Your energy is your most valuable resource.

Spend it like it matters.

Choose your A+ categories carefully.

Let some things live comfortably in the B range.

Maybe even the C range.

The world will keep turning.

Your students will survive.

And you might just survive the school year feeling lighter, calmer, and more like yourself.

The goal isn’t becoming someone who cares less.

It’s becoming someone who cares wisely.

Because not everything deserves your A+.

But the things that do…

deserve the very best of you.