Joy and Wedding Bells

Look at those faces. They were babies. Little wee ones, and that’s how I remember them. When I look up suddenly, or a wedding ring on a left finger catches my eye and makes me lose my breath, I have to face the reality that these children are all grown up.

Grown up and married and no longer our babies. (Oh, but who am I kidding? Your children always stay your babies, right?)

Wedding bells rang this weekend, and my heart sputters every time I think of the joy I felt and still feel. You always hear that when your children are happy, you’ll be too. Maybe that was it. Or maybe it was just the excitement of the event. All I know is when I stepped into that church, the energy overwhelmed me. Smiling faces and piercing love swallowed me whole.

Family and friends brought that love, mixed in with the love of God I felt in our beautiful old church, and it was amazing.

Trey and Shelby are starting a life together, a life I pray has more joy than sadness, more hope than loss. Some sweet soul asked me about them over the weekend, and I admitted that they loved fiercely one minute but sometimes argued like brothers and sisters the next. The woman smiled and said, “That means they’re best friends, too.” And they are. Sometimes in a marriage, you need a best friend almost as much as you need a partner.

Even now, I’m weepy. Bill is too. So if you see us remember someone’s kind words and get misty-eyed, just know our emotions have been on a rollercoaster of gratitude and joy. And if a mushy song comes on the radio, especially one from the reception, and we blubber like babies, we’re okay! Just two sappy, getting older, grateful souls.

Thank you for the love. For every single one of you who hugged us, or said a kind word, or sent a smile and a wink; to every single person who said ‘I love you’ and helped us set up, clean up, dig out, and put away – thank you for your kindness and support. We adore you all!

Conversations

We’re working on a Caldecott Medal unit, discussing the prestige of winning this award for illustrations, and I say, “The first Caldecott Medal was awarded in 1938.”

“Mrs. Rackley, were you born then?” a little one asks sincerely.

“Ugh…no baby…” (But today y’all are making me feel that way.)

*

Kindergarten boy, age 5, walks over to a table covered in books, ready to pick one for himself. “This is book heaven,” he whispers.

Yes, sweetie, it is.

*

I explained I’d bought new colored pencils and for them to be kind and gentle with the new supplies. I went on to say there were new crayons too. Little fella looks at me and says, “Mrs. Rackley, you’ve been shoppin’ springing.”

*

Sweet 5 year-old baby girl is dressed up as a 100 year-old for the 100th day of school, and she looked fantastic by the way – rollers in her hair, powder to make it gray, lots of granny makeup…perfect. Sadly, she comes to me and says, “So-and-so just said I looked hideous.”

“Oh baby, you’re far from hideous,” I say, but in my mind I’m secretly impressed that my Kinders know the word hideous.

*

During lunch room duty, a second grade boy waves me down. “Mrs. Rackley, what does constipated mean? She keeps telling me she’s constipated,” he says pointing at the girl across the table.

“Well, I was all weekend,” she defends, very naively and bluntly.

He looks at me again, and I try, “Uh…it means…uh…that her belly is a little messed up and she’s having trouble going to the bathroom.”

He squints, he looks between us. I’m trying hard to leave it be. He looks at her again, and she pipes up, “It was really bad! It lasted for days!”

Sigh…I just patted his back and walked on.

*

It is never boring. It is never quiet for long. It is always interesting and always, each and every day, enlightening and way too entertaining.

GHWB

President George Bush passed away last night, and his family said his last words were, “I love you, too.” He spoke those words to his son, the other president. GWB had undoubtedly heard the words before, but what a blessing for those to be the last words he heard from his father.

Reading about the love between President Bush and his wife, Barbara, tugs at my heart. Reading about how their love and kindness blessed their family makes me sigh. What a blessing their lives were to the people around them.

Do you ever get to the end of a day and wonder if you’ve blessed anyone, whether you’ve done one pleasant, decent, kind thing all day long? I do. Some days are better than others…I can remember a hug or a smile. Then there are days like yesterday, and I can’t see past my own exhaustion and fussiness to find anything positive.

After I left work yesterday, I worried if I’d done anything right. Then I thought of this one boy….

Just this week, his mom was arrested again. Last week, he wore no coat at all. I do my best to find him for a minute most days. He asked me yesterday if I would read to him…this big, second grade boy who has seen way too much. So I pulled him behind my desk, he pushed his shoulder against mine, and I read to him. Every single word.

That one little thing made the rest of the day worth it.

Lord…close my mouth, fill my heart, guide my actions.

A Day in the Life

“Mrs. Rock-ee! Guess what? We learned about G and O today!”

“Fun! Well, what do G and O spell…g…o….”

Eyes lift to the ceiling, his tiny brow crinkles, then he declares, “Octopus!”

Our Kindergarten babies are coming along! Honestly, the first few weeks with them are hard. But hard isn’t the right word. If you’ve heard the saying ‘herding cats’ then that explains it a little better. Luckily, our school is (beyond) blessed with a group of wonderful teachers who love children and who don’t give up when the body whines with exhaustion.

Seeing the people I work with from a different light (a non-classroom teacher looking in), has changed my whole perspective. As a classroom teacher, I was very focused on my space and my students. Now, as a librarian, I encounter every child and teacher in the building. And let me tell you, every class has its own personality and requires a different touch and approach.

Now when I look at my fellow teachers, I see their individual methods, their unique touches. I see their hearts and how they embrace the difficult child needing love just as easily as they push along the happy pleasers. My heart also aches for them on their hard days; the days of trials and change.

I love my work family. I love their dedication and focus. I love their love for children.

Another funny…

A sweet itty bitty accidentally ‘tooted’ during story time. And there was no ignoring it. I shushed the group and casually said that it was no big deal, that everybody does it. Well…it happened again, and there was no way itty bitty was getting by with it two times in a row. A little fellow behind her quickly told her, “You can hold those farts in, you know!”

Y’all…I mean, what would you have done in my place?? Seriously.

I proudly kept a straight face, told the fellow that we don’t say that word at school, and asked itty bitty if she needed to go to the potty.

That is real life in a PreK-2 school!

Reflections

Reflections on another summer gone by way too fast:

*It’s hard to contemplate going back to work when it’s still summer. Maybe summer break should last as long as summer itself. Someone told me, “Well, it’s too hot for the kids to be at home. They need to be in school.”

Seriously, somebody said that to me. I’m sure the incredulous look on my face let them know my take on that. What happened to swimming, riding bikes, building forts? We did all of those things as children whether it was hot or not.

* I hope I never have to write a research paper ever, ever again. Never, ever again. Two research papers in sixteen days about did me in.

*I’ve figured out that going back to work would be easier if I could take my dogs with me. Beanie would love it! However, Layla would be a nervous wreck, and unfortunately, we’ve recently discovered that Avi is afraid of little kids. Go figure.

*June was a blur. Days of sitting at the computer writing papers and creating webpages. July…I was a bum. A happy to be at home bum. I warned my family that it would happen. I don’t think they believed me until the evidence (no makeup, very little activity, and no bra for days) proved me right.

*July has been a month for books. I think I have 3 different books going right now. Does anybody else do that? It’s like tuning in to a different T.V. show but the story is taking place on paper.

*Vacationing with my hubby is still fun. When you’ve been married 28 years, you may wonder does he still like me, what will we talk about? I happily found that we both still love spending time together…like by ourselves with no kids or people around. It was awesome.

My favorite guy, our favorite place.

*Grown kids are just as fun as young kids, maybe more.

*I read a lot of articles and snippets of things. Everyone seems to have an opinion on something, but no matter what is said or discovered about children, these things hold true:

Children are honest and needy,

they need boundaries every single day,

they love without measure,

they need to get off the electronics and play,

and they need discipline when it’s warranted.

Most of all, they just want you to love them back.

*Summer vacation is way too short…did I mention that already?

Some Kids Don’t Smile

This little fellow has come into my life. He’s thin with wary, pale blue eyes. The child’s a skeptic; a hard-earned, already knows the world can be brutal, skeptic. And he’s seven. Honestly, there are moments when he can push my buttons like a lightning strike…fast and powerful before I even know it’s coming. The heat flushes under my skin and I have to bite my tongue. And then there are moments when I find his smile and I know I won’t pinch his head off that day. (Just kidding, seriously.)

Those smiles of his are rare. We go for weeks without smiles. Pain lives inside his tiny body and a smile just seems ridiculous to him. Of course I only have him with me for forty-five minutes of the day…just a blip in his massive twenty-four hour a day span. But for those 45 minutes, he’s mine. And when I see him in the halls, he’s mine. Once a child comes into my room, I get a little possessive, and whether they know it or not, they become part of the slew of students I call my own.

This past week, something eased at this little fellow’s home. I’m not sure exactly what but I have my guesses. He’d never be able to describe what it is, but something lessened its grip just enough for his anger to weaken. And then, it came. A very awkward smile…he did not want it to come out, and he fought it as long as he could. And then before he knew it, another smile popped out. I just smiled back, thankful for any grin I could get.

To some, it may be hard to believe that children in this world don’t smile. It seems as natural as breathing to most kids, but there are so many who have no reason to smile. Their home lives are broken and painful. They come to school starving. They come in with dirty clothes and unkempt hair. A lot of students struggle to find any reason to smile at all.

The mother in me wants to squeeze them until they feel better. I want to make it easier for them even though I know I can’t fix what so many of our kids live through. I want to trim their jagged nails and take them for hair cuts. I want to buy them a pair of matching socks or a pair of shoes that fit. My heart aches to wash the smell of neglect out of their hair. The teacher in me knows many of those things are beyond my capacity to do. Not because I don’t want to, but because we all know I would get fired for bathing other people’s children at school.

BUT…what can I do? I can not lose my temper when my buttons are repeatedly pushed to the point of exhaustion. I can be kind even when I’m the grumpy one. I can do my best to make a child smile, even if it’s only for a minute.

I don’t think anyone besides educators (and the spouses of educators that have to hear this every night) fathom the condition of little people…not just their outwardly condition, but their hearts. Their souls are fragile, and many of them are living through things we think only adults go through.

Those needy babies keep me grounded, they keep me focused on something other than myself. I cherish the children who smile easily and say thankful prayers for their joy, and then I pray again for the little ones who don’t smile at all. I pray the happy giggles of other children will rub off on them. And honestly, most days I pray for the strength to handle their moods and the ability to remember why they’re moody in the first place.

He smiled at me this week…a smile, not a snarl (and yes, he’s snarled at me many times). It was a good smile and it made my week.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

You Can’t Say That At School

A little girl with bouncing, shiny black curls ran towards me in the hall. It was more like a skip but still, in her current condition, she should’ve been walking. Covering her face was a mixture of glee and concern. Her large eyes met mine as she sort of smiled then sort of frowned. “I’m going home,” she said, immediately wanting a hug. “I don’t feel good.”

I hugged her back as I tried not to breathe in her germs and told her to get better soon.

And then this little voice, very twangy and small, chirped from behind me, “Her’s freakin’ sick.”

In a nano-second, I pushed the girl out of my arms to turn to the boy. “What?!”

“Her’s freakin’ sick!”

For a few seconds I could only gape at this child, only five years old and already spunky. Had he really said freakin’? Oh yes, he had. And did I want to address that first or his use of her instead of she?

I ignored the grammar lesson and proceeded to tell him not to use that word at school or at all.

So I thought I’d heard it all for the day. Not so fast. A few hours later, just as I’d wrangled the attention of three antsy little ones, another small voice demanded, “Who farted?”

Once again I gaped at the child (not the same child as before). I then told him not to say fart at school or ever. He proceeded to tell me that somebody did it and it smelled bad. Minutes later, as I’d moved the children on to other topics, the same fellow spat, “I can’t hear myself think!” He then began to chant as he squeezed his ears from top to bottom, open and closed, “It’s okay…it’s okay…peace, peace, breathe, breathe.”

All I could do was stare…that’s about it. Sometimes you just have to follow their advice or go crazy. So I breathed and then I laughed a little – but not in his face.

Y’all…come visit for a day. Come for a week. I promise you’ll smile.

What the Heck is Fwight Night?

Y’all…I’m still shaking my head, still trying to decipher what I heard today. I was across the table from two little people…real little people. These little people have severe speech impedements (according to me anyway), and they were both talking at the same time. Their little shoulders were touching as they gabbed and gabbed, and even as I tried to intervene, they couldn’t find the period at the end of their sentences. Our topic was math – matching dots to numbers – easy, right? But no…somehow we ended up talking about Fright Night (I’m still not real sure what that is). Remember the speech issue I mentioned – fright night becomes fwight night.  Anyway, apparently this stuff is scary so I proceeded to tell them they didn’t need to watch scary things. They shook their heads and said they watch scary stuff “all da time”. 

Y’all…I’m 47. I wasn’t allowed to watch scary movies when I was little. When I spent the night with a friend at 13 and saw my first one, the original Jason, it traumatized me so bad I was sick all night long – in the dark, where Jason lives, All Night Long.

So, these kiddos were comparing war stories about their scary shows. One looked at me and said, “You wealy don’t need to watch Fwight Night…it’s bad, so bad.”  The other jumped in, “I have scawy dreams after that show.”

Well duh…they’re five. 

Even though I was honestly fascinated by their conversation, I declared total silence until they finished their work. It about killed them to be quiet but they survived the torturous five minutes. 

Is it just me? Am I the only person in the world who believes Chucky should be off limits for children? Like for real. No scary shows = no bad dreams. Back to simple math. 

Y’all…these kids. My days are never boring.

Kid friendly Halloween!

My idea of a scary movie.

Jofis (Or Kindergartners are Kwazy!)

She’s little, maybe comes to my hip. She’s blonde and giddy and very, very expressive. There’s a little speech impediment and a smile big enough to make you laugh for no reason.

“Jofis! Jofis,” she chants until the little boy (really named Joseph) looks at her. “You better be good! You hear me, Jofis?”

In the next nanosecond, she turns to me and exclaims, “Do you know Nancy (name changed to protect the innocent)…she is making me cwazy!”

“Who’s Nancy? Why is she making you crazy?”

“My sister, Mrs. Mawackawee!  And she…you know her?…she’s so mean to me!” She shakes her little blonde head and rolls her bright blue eyes. “She’s my fwiend but she’s so mean!”

These Kindergartners are a hoot. And their teachers are angels on earth. If you don’t believe me, come visit for awhile. I’ve always appreciated how hard they work (and always wondered how and why they stay with it year after year), but now after working with these little ones myself…all I can say is wow. These educators take on things we outsiders can’t even grasp. Tears, fear of toilets, angst and anxiety – and they are expected to take them from sad, I want my mommy little ones to ready to read first graders. My appreciation for these Kindergarten teachers has quadrupled. You guys are rock stars!

Little Tiny Hands

More Kindergarten quotes…and mind you, these statements come at you like rockets, one after the other, sometimes with no breath in between…bam, bam, bam!

“I like tantelopes.” I say cantelopes. She says, “That’s what I said…tantelopes.”

“I’m a good listener.”  Little princess repeats this four times in a row before I even have a chance to nod. “A really good listener.”

“I might stink – I took a bath last night but I pwayed on the pwayground, so I might stink.”

“The tooth fairy comes to my house in some bubbles…”

“Hello, hello…,” she says to me, “Let me see your clock.” It’s the watch on my arm, and of course, I let her see it.

“Look, look, Gracie…Gracie…why, why, why? I don’t like lemon pie.”

Can’t Never Could

Where has the time gone??  Six weeks since I last posted. Of course I know where really…it happened when the big change occurred in my life.  When I last posted, I had just gotten a new position at work, and since then, that change has consumed my life (but in a joyful way).

This past week, I finally began to interact with my new students. Being an interventionist, I serve small groups of students at a time, helping with certain skills. So far I love it. I love the one-on-one time…I actually have time to talk to them about the process of learning. Early in the week, I did a welcome-back-to-school activity while we were testing. It was very simple…they had to write the word can and decorate it. The word correlates to the “I can do it” poem I say with students who come my way.

Most of the kids smiled and quickly completed the task but one little boy balked. I told them that in my room we don’t say can’t, only can. He frowned at me, a very confused scowl on his face, and said, “But…but some days you have to say can’t.  Some days you just have to.”

I said, “We’re going to work really hard in here and try not to say can’t.”

“But…,” he shook his head, “No…no.”

This is the same child who within five minutes of meeting him, told me that his mom and dad don’t live together, his brother is being bullied every night, and his sisters are in heaven.

No wonder he knows the word can’t.

Can’t never could…maybe it’s hard to believe that when your home life is in shambles. Maybe it’s hard to believe that you can succeed when everything around you is crumbling. And believe me, he’s not the only child in our building whose home life is far from ideal.

I definitely look at him in a different light now.  Even though I may be expected to treat all students the same, how can you when you catch glimpses of their souls? Each one of them needs something different, something unique. Our job as educators is to figure out what that one thing is.

Can’t never could…I’ll be repeating that statement to myself often next week. I begin working with Kindergarten students…something I haven’t done since my first two years out of college. A part of me is excited, the other is terrified. They’re young, needy, sometimes very emotional, but so stinking cute. Should be interesting!

Notice the nice, new door…I’ve taught in the old part of the building (built in the late 50’s/early 60’s) since 1994. This new door makes me smile. It’s the little things in life.

Love my new space…