Saturdays when I should be cleaning...

Oh, Saturday; the best and worst day of the week. A day without the business of going to work or alarm clocks. When sleeping in, even for a little bit, presents itself like pure bliss. Even in waking up, there is the temptation just to lie there for a few more minutes or snuggle down into the warm covers and pull the book from beneath the pillow. (Assuming you have a book under the pillow, which I always do). This is the best part of the day and then enters the list.

I cannot lie in bed very long without the list creeping in. The long durge of things I must get done because it is Saturday and I don't have to go to work. Unpleasant things like hanging up clothes and cleaning the bathroom. Going to do laundry or cutting out laminated name cards for school. Homework and shopping for unexciting items like toilet paper and toothpaste.

Today, my list is exceptionally long. So long in fact that it will not all get done. I have already been up, but now I am back to lying in bed, reveling that it is Saturday and blogging about the list instead of tackling it. That, my friends, is bliss.

Quotes from Kindergarten...

Ariel: Miss B, do you know why I am the best?
Me: No, Ariel, why are you the best?
Ariel: Because my dad...he teach me evey nigh to dance...like this...(shakes her hips and shoulders vigourously).
Me: (laughing) Yes Ariel, you are the best.

*The spelling errors in the sentences above, dear reader, are to help you hear her. It also helps if you imagine a tiny Mexican girl with long brown hair and a little spanish accent.

Wisdom of a four year old...

Another moment brought to you by Olivia. She just turned five and is becoming increasingly more snarky as time goes by. Too smart for her own good or brilliant?

Olivia: Sissa, it is time for you to be married. Find a boy who likes you.
Me: Okay, I'll get right on it. It isn't that easy you know.
Olivia: You better get working, so you can get married and have your babies. You're going to want to meet your children before you pass away. Don't you think that would be a good idea?

Me: (laughing) I would definitely like to meet my children before I pass away.

Where do they come up with this stuff? I attribute the above conversation to Charlotte's Web. We are reading it for the first time and have been talking about how Charlotte dies after she lays her eggs, but before her children are born. I guess, Olivia doesn't want me to meet the same fate.

Adventures in house buying...

I am in the process of buying a house. It has been an exhausting and frustrating adventure. Hands down house hunting is the worst of activities because there exists a significant gap at what we want and what we can afford. Looking at what I can afford has been disheartening. Questions about money and regrets about choosing a career with such limited earning potential have come to the forefront, making themselves nuisances, instead of remaining in the background where they belong.

After touring some good houses in questionable neighborhoods, some questionable houses in good neighborhoods, and many questionable houses in questionable neighborhoods...I finally found a gem. The neighborhood is good. The house is good. The price is good, and I am one step closer to having my own space. Somewhere that is really mine, not a temporary stopping place. Somewhere I can fully occupy and not have to abandon in a year or two.

There is some red tape and papers to sign. I won't move in until November, but now that I know it is coming, I find myself worrying less. In fact, all I can think about is possibility. Possibility and paint colors.

A word on waiting...

I always read Whitman in the fall.
His words fit the season
sound on my mind like boot soles against the pavement,
wrap around me like an old sweater
warm me like an old friend.

I find quiet there
where nobody knows me.
Where I get answers to questions I haven't asked
but still need heard;
and I feel connected through
and entwined,
a different branch of the same tree,

waiting.

If you want me again, look for me under your boot-soles.

You will hardly know who I am, or what I mean;
But I shall be good health to you nevertheless,
And filter and fibre your blood.

Failing to fetch me at first, keep encouraged;
Missing me one place, search another;
I stop somewhere, waiting for you.

Quotes from Kindergarten...

My kids say the funniest things. I'm pretty sure someone has already made a million writing down the crazy kids things say and marketing it as a special interest book. Still, I think Kindergarten teachers have the market on a goldmine just listening to their kids talk everyday. So here is the first of many quotes from Kindergarten worth sharing.

From a lesson on letter names and sounds...

Kindergartner: That "y" sure is a tricky one.
Me: What makes you think that?
K: It is supposed to say "yu," but then it goes and says "ee" and "ii" wherever it wants. How can we learn the sound if it keeps changing its mind?
Me: That is a good question. We just have to remember when it makes a different sound.
K: Well (thinking for a minute)...if it is going to make such bad choices, maybe it can just get out of the alphabet.

The First Year Chronicles...

I realize now that I have been a teacher for exactly one month. It is crazy to have a dream, work on it, achieve it, and then go about the business of living it without another thought. Teaching has been my dream for a long time (even if I wasn't brave enough to do anything about it until now). Still it has been a month and this is the first time I have thought, I am living my dream.

It pains me to say the last month has not been dreamy. Some of the shine has been worn of by the reality of having 27 kindergarteners come to my classroom everyday. There are so many five year olds and they need so much, so consistently, so often. It is an endless stream of transitions and potty breaks and untied shoe laces. Lining up and sitting down. Redirection and re-directing. It is exhausting work, friends. We need to make better choices slips from my tongue unconscientiously now. It swims in my nighttime dreams. I wake up with its stale taste in my mouth. And I wonder. If. I should. Make a better choice.

Then I remember...the boy who wanted a orange jelly bean and I gave him a red one. I told him it had his name on it. I turned around to sit down, only to find him with the jelly bean close to his eye. What are you doing little friend, I asked. I can't find my name, he said.

I remember the little girl who stood next to my chair and rested her head on my shoulder during writing time. You feel safe, she whispered.

I remember the girl who stood in front of me and pushed my hair back from my face with little fingers. You are so beautiful, Miss B.

I remember the boy who couldn't hold a pencil, but now writes his name...well mostly writes it.

I remember the feeling of a small hand in mine down the hall, small arms around my legs, small lives moving in and around mine. Little things like a full box of plums, a thanks, and I love you.

Despite exhaustion, there is an endless stream of love and learning and little faces. Words and wonder. Play and possibility. The spaces and absences I fill. The space and absences they fill. And I remember why I made my choices.

This is a dream.