There are at least a dozen stoplights to either pass right through or stop at on the way. Once I get inside the parking lot, it is a matter of going around the outside to the row near the grass. I almost always park in the second spot from the right. This may seem peculiar but to me it makes perfect sense. Even when it is my turn for the special parking space, I prefer to park in my spot and walk. I like how the church's steeple looks with clouds behind it, aglow in the morning sun.
I often take the sidewalk, watching carefully for those who do not pick up after their dogs, as I pass the gigantic tree, the one where kids will try to play just a little bit longer while moms chat with each other to keep from losing their patience, past the small parking lot where the red doors come into view. Using the fob on my keychain, I walk into the school.
Checking my mailbox I exchange greetings, sign in, and immediately head to the kitchen to make the coffee. I had reached the point a long time ago in which bad coffee was no longer acceptable. I chose to buy my own as a way to serve the women with whom I work. I figured if I bought it, I may as well make it. It also gives me a chance to converse with those gathering snacks and getting bleach for their bottles. A quick glance at the bulletin board and I am on my way down the hall to my room.
Before I take off my shoes, I set down my purse and take my first bathroom break of the day. Returning to the room, I take off my shoes to enter, put my purse on the cubby, hang up my coat if I have one, get my cup near the sink, and head back out the door, sliding into my shoes as I go back down the hall.
By this time the coffee machine has beeped and the pot is full. Ever since whole milk replaced two percent as our milk of choice, I have not needed to buy cream. It works fine. I see cars lining up and parents with children standing outside the door. The welcome flag goes up. The children who were in the early birds group make their way to their classrooms. The last day of school begins.
The two teacher kids are first to arrive in the classroom. They have already adapted to spending extra time in classrooms where they will continue to spend more time than most for possibly years yet to come. Next comes a little brother of a 4-year-old who insists on kissing him just one more time. Both parents usually drop off the kids thanks to their flexible work schedules. Last are twins brought in by a mom who already had a household of children. Though they come in last, they seem to know they are loved. Loved by us, by their parents, by all who could not possibly miss the double stroller making its way down the hall or up the sidewalk with identical twin boys smiling and waving.
Bags are hung up, diapers and refrigerated food put away, and playing continues until snack time when bottles are warmed and high chairs are pulled out of the crib room. Soon following eating comes a diaper change for each one. Some will sleep; some will not. It all depends on timing and a certain amount of skill in calming everyone down.
Naps and/or stroller rides come next and then it is time for lunch. More bottles, more food, more diaper changes. The babies have learned independence in feeding themselves. Fewer need bottles and those who do can hold their own bottle. Watching them go from lying on the floor, to crawling, to standing, to walking never gets old. Each one of them is a living miracle. I feel of rush of gratitude having been in their presence each morning, holding them and helping them to be ok in a place not their home. I know they will never remember me and yet I somehow hope they will.
When parents come to retrieve their babies, they slip a card or small gift into our hands while we give them back the babies we have come to know and love. Starbucks gift cards are a good gift. Scuppernong Books gift certificates are my favorite. The cards tell me how much we are appreciated. Sometimes they are written in first-person as though the child is writing. There can be tears if the family has made other plans for the next year, though usually there is more emotion in the 5-year-old room when the child is leaving the school for kindergarten. Families who are on their last child are especially emotional. Leaving preschool is an important marker in a child's development. It will be the last time in the child's life that play is considered work, unless they love what they will do.
After the children have all gone home, we mop the mats and spray down the toys. We wipe those toys played with the most. We put away laundry and take down the IGP monthly pages that now form a book--that last page featuring the class picture and a short letter summarizing the year. Names are wiped from the calendar and all of the poster sheets covering bulletin boards and the door are wiped clean. It is not necessary to do extensive cleaning as it is a room used frequently for childcare.
The original used to make copies of the take-home sheet is replaced in its file folder. The sign-in sheet is kept as a record no one will ever need. One name predominates. The others rarely signed in. All is wiped down and the crock pot is turned off. The refrigerator will not be defrosted until it is time to do it all over again in the fall. Toys are taken back to the toy room. Everything is straightened.
Lights are turned off and the door closed, as I make my way back down the hall, wishing others well as I walk by their rooms. I stop to hug those who will show up only one more time before taking their leave permanently. I go into the 5-year-old room where I've always felt comfortable and look around at all of the color and art on the walls. With extended time, they have yet to completely dismantle the room. The door to the playground is open and inviting. The laughter of children playing in the sand blends with the music. It feels like it will be a long time before we are together again. We know better.
I sign out and open the red doors to the warm, summer air which beckons me to take a deep breath. Another year of spending time with small children has ended. Summer vacation begins.
(In an On Being interview with Kevin Kling, Krista Tippett asks him how he dealt with the trauma following his motorcycle accident that nearly ended his life and caused him to lose the use of his only good arm. He said his therapist told him to re-tell the story with a different outcome. By giving an alternative ending to his story--in his case, not crashing his motorcycle--his mind was able to move beyond it instead of reliving it and allowing it to repeatedly terrorize him.
"We need to rewrite our stories sometimes just so we can sleep at night," he said.)
I often take the sidewalk, watching carefully for those who do not pick up after their dogs, as I pass the gigantic tree, the one where kids will try to play just a little bit longer while moms chat with each other to keep from losing their patience, past the small parking lot where the red doors come into view. Using the fob on my keychain, I walk into the school.
Checking my mailbox I exchange greetings, sign in, and immediately head to the kitchen to make the coffee. I had reached the point a long time ago in which bad coffee was no longer acceptable. I chose to buy my own as a way to serve the women with whom I work. I figured if I bought it, I may as well make it. It also gives me a chance to converse with those gathering snacks and getting bleach for their bottles. A quick glance at the bulletin board and I am on my way down the hall to my room.
Before I take off my shoes, I set down my purse and take my first bathroom break of the day. Returning to the room, I take off my shoes to enter, put my purse on the cubby, hang up my coat if I have one, get my cup near the sink, and head back out the door, sliding into my shoes as I go back down the hall.
By this time the coffee machine has beeped and the pot is full. Ever since whole milk replaced two percent as our milk of choice, I have not needed to buy cream. It works fine. I see cars lining up and parents with children standing outside the door. The welcome flag goes up. The children who were in the early birds group make their way to their classrooms. The last day of school begins.
The two teacher kids are first to arrive in the classroom. They have already adapted to spending extra time in classrooms where they will continue to spend more time than most for possibly years yet to come. Next comes a little brother of a 4-year-old who insists on kissing him just one more time. Both parents usually drop off the kids thanks to their flexible work schedules. Last are twins brought in by a mom who already had a household of children. Though they come in last, they seem to know they are loved. Loved by us, by their parents, by all who could not possibly miss the double stroller making its way down the hall or up the sidewalk with identical twin boys smiling and waving.
Bags are hung up, diapers and refrigerated food put away, and playing continues until snack time when bottles are warmed and high chairs are pulled out of the crib room. Soon following eating comes a diaper change for each one. Some will sleep; some will not. It all depends on timing and a certain amount of skill in calming everyone down.
Naps and/or stroller rides come next and then it is time for lunch. More bottles, more food, more diaper changes. The babies have learned independence in feeding themselves. Fewer need bottles and those who do can hold their own bottle. Watching them go from lying on the floor, to crawling, to standing, to walking never gets old. Each one of them is a living miracle. I feel of rush of gratitude having been in their presence each morning, holding them and helping them to be ok in a place not their home. I know they will never remember me and yet I somehow hope they will.
When parents come to retrieve their babies, they slip a card or small gift into our hands while we give them back the babies we have come to know and love. Starbucks gift cards are a good gift. Scuppernong Books gift certificates are my favorite. The cards tell me how much we are appreciated. Sometimes they are written in first-person as though the child is writing. There can be tears if the family has made other plans for the next year, though usually there is more emotion in the 5-year-old room when the child is leaving the school for kindergarten. Families who are on their last child are especially emotional. Leaving preschool is an important marker in a child's development. It will be the last time in the child's life that play is considered work, unless they love what they will do.
After the children have all gone home, we mop the mats and spray down the toys. We wipe those toys played with the most. We put away laundry and take down the IGP monthly pages that now form a book--that last page featuring the class picture and a short letter summarizing the year. Names are wiped from the calendar and all of the poster sheets covering bulletin boards and the door are wiped clean. It is not necessary to do extensive cleaning as it is a room used frequently for childcare.
The original used to make copies of the take-home sheet is replaced in its file folder. The sign-in sheet is kept as a record no one will ever need. One name predominates. The others rarely signed in. All is wiped down and the crock pot is turned off. The refrigerator will not be defrosted until it is time to do it all over again in the fall. Toys are taken back to the toy room. Everything is straightened.
Lights are turned off and the door closed, as I make my way back down the hall, wishing others well as I walk by their rooms. I stop to hug those who will show up only one more time before taking their leave permanently. I go into the 5-year-old room where I've always felt comfortable and look around at all of the color and art on the walls. With extended time, they have yet to completely dismantle the room. The door to the playground is open and inviting. The laughter of children playing in the sand blends with the music. It feels like it will be a long time before we are together again. We know better.
I sign out and open the red doors to the warm, summer air which beckons me to take a deep breath. Another year of spending time with small children has ended. Summer vacation begins.
(In an On Being interview with Kevin Kling, Krista Tippett asks him how he dealt with the trauma following his motorcycle accident that nearly ended his life and caused him to lose the use of his only good arm. He said his therapist told him to re-tell the story with a different outcome. By giving an alternative ending to his story--in his case, not crashing his motorcycle--his mind was able to move beyond it instead of reliving it and allowing it to repeatedly terrorize him.
"We need to rewrite our stories sometimes just so we can sleep at night," he said.)
No comments:
Post a Comment