that time of year

It's that time of year, when I start thinking about all the things I want to change with my next class.
It's that time of year, when I feel I know my students best. The hugs from them seem to last a little longer; I can crack a joke and get smiles in return.
It's that time of year when I lie in bed on Monday mornings, listening to the alarm ringing, and long for serene summer mornings, rest and quiet. 
It's that time of year when the days seem so long yet so short at the same time. I can't really wrap my mind around the fact that these students will be walking out of my life when the bell rings May 26. That I won't have the honor of being their "school mom." That I won't need to scold one student for shooting trash-can baskets with his balled-up paper; that I won't need to remind another to clean up her desk. That I won't be hearing any more of my students' small daily successes, woes and worries.
I'm torn between telling time to slow down and telling it to run faster. Monday mornings, I'll admit, I would love to press the fast-forward button. Other times I'm not so sure.
It's that time of year when I wonder if they'll remember me many years from now, and what they'll remember.
It's that time of year when I think about beginnings and endings, and how much they may be the same.