At lunchtime today, everything that could be spilled was spilled. Icees. My iced coffee. (Yes, I find myself suddenly becoming overly reliant on sugary liquid fuels.). Milk. "Emer-gen-cy. Emer-gen-cy," D. walks around reciting like a robot. The rest are going nuts all around me for different reasons. "Please, please, D., stop," I plead. I command. Ah, but it's his robot-call for help that actually gets someone from the outside world to pop her head in and ask if she can call for a maintenance man for us. "Oh, yes, please!" say I, weary of sending Kindergarteners on treks to the bathroom for more and more paper towels, having exhausted our classroom supply.
It was rough today. I just feel spent.
But here's a blessing: they're reading! When I think back to many of them not knowing their alphabet,
and now see all but two reading simple sentences and books well,
and one of those is on his way. The other needs some extra love and care and time.
...
I think: this is a neat thing. They are reading. I hope they love it. If not yet, then someday.
This week, we're talking about the sheep and the goats; "I was hungry and you gave me something to eat; I was thirsty, and you gave me something to drink. I was a stranger, and you invited me in..." how to wait for Jesus well. How to thank Him with our lives.
Friday, May 29, 2009
12. A Tuesday.
After a holiday weekend, coming in like a sleepwalker,
except not, because aren't sleepwalkers rather energetic? To walk in your sleep, that takes some determination and excessive get-up-and-go.
I was out of gas.
Fuel of choice:
Today, when I told him I had to go to the eye doctor after school and therefore could not do 'Insectos' (tutoring in the alphabet using insect names) with him after school, M. declared, "I can check them." He looks in my eyes briefly. "They are fine. They look great!" Hours later, it is apparently still on his mind. Out of the blue: "I have an idea." "What's your idea, M.?" "I can check your eyes for you, very fast, and then you will not have to go to the doctor, and we can do insectos, very fast, before my mom comes!" He announces this like it's the perfect solution. Eureka!
except not, because aren't sleepwalkers rather energetic? To walk in your sleep, that takes some determination and excessive get-up-and-go.
I was out of gas.
Fuel of choice:
Today, when I told him I had to go to the eye doctor after school and therefore could not do 'Insectos' (tutoring in the alphabet using insect names) with him after school, M. declared, "I can check them." He looks in my eyes briefly. "They are fine. They look great!" Hours later, it is apparently still on his mind. Out of the blue: "I have an idea." "What's your idea, M.?" "I can check your eyes for you, very fast, and then you will not have to go to the doctor, and we can do insectos, very fast, before my mom comes!" He announces this like it's the perfect solution. Eureka!
Sunday, May 24, 2009
13.
Today, the restoration of the Crumpled Kingdom. I unveiled a copy of the Kingdom drawn on new, uncrumpled green paper. "How did you fix it??" they ask incredulously. We talk about all things made new and restored. We review all the truths heard this week. Trumpets. Judgment. Covered in His blood, His righteousness. Dead rising. Redeemed taken up in the clouds. Worship forever. And then we watched a clip of things changing rapidly, miraculously. Just a tiny, tiny, imperfect idea of restoration. But they were awakened to wonder. This was good. We made little 'trumpet' necklacesn with tiny bells, paper clips and string to serve as a reminder: "So then, you must also be ready." Tell someone else! The King is coming back.
My hope this week
must be in
what I have been preaching to them.
They are, again, so disobedient. So hard-hearted toward learning
and toward authority. So selfish.
It hurts, it aches, it stings, it wears
to be angry. At the small ones and their disrespect. At their parents. At the world that is pushing them into its image. At the opportunities they are missing
every day,
by choice.
(God, forgive me for where the anger is too much. God who angers PERFECTLY, RIGHTEOUSLY, help me live with this.) You KNOW this anger. You feel it and You speak about it. And You answer it.
"The earth dries up and withers, the world languishes and withers,
the exalted of the earth languish.
The earth is defiled by its people;
they have disobeyed the laws,
violated the statutes
and broken the everlasting covenant.
Therefore a curse consumes the earth; its people must bear their guilt."
(Isaiah 24:4-6a)
In a trumpet blast,
in a coming King,
in a righteous Judge who makes all things right,
God, ignite my hope.
"In that day the LORD will punish
the powers in the heavens above
and the kings on the earth below.
They will be herded together
like prisoners bound in a dungeon...
(and "...if anyone causes one of these little ones who believe in me to sin, it would be better for him to have a large millstone hung around his neck and to be drowned in the depths of the sea..." Matt. 18:6)
The moon will be abashed, the sun ashamed; for the LORD Almighty will reign on Mount Zion and in Jerusalem, and before its elders, gloriously."
(Isaiah 24:21-22a)
For now,
You are a refuge, in driving heat and wind. A tower in which we shelter.
But one day, we'll feast on a mountain,
wide open.
Ruthless rebellion silenced at last.
"...as heat is reduced by the shadow of a cloud, so the song of the ruthless is stilled.
On this mountain the LORD Almighty will prepare
a feast of rich foods for all peoples...
On this mountain he will destroy the shroud that enfolds all peoples,
the sheet that covers all nations;
he will swallow up death forever.
The Sovereign LORD will wipe away the tears from all faces;
he will remove the disgrace of his people from all the earth.
The LORD has spoken."
(Isaiah 25:5b-8)
God give your people -- give me -- the power to endure.
And to endure a-shouting,
shouting out Your praise,
declaring all Your Word.
My hope this week
must be in
what I have been preaching to them.
They are, again, so disobedient. So hard-hearted toward learning
and toward authority. So selfish.
It hurts, it aches, it stings, it wears
to be angry. At the small ones and their disrespect. At their parents. At the world that is pushing them into its image. At the opportunities they are missing
every day,
by choice.
(God, forgive me for where the anger is too much. God who angers PERFECTLY, RIGHTEOUSLY, help me live with this.) You KNOW this anger. You feel it and You speak about it. And You answer it.
"The earth dries up and withers, the world languishes and withers,
the exalted of the earth languish.
The earth is defiled by its people;
they have disobeyed the laws,
violated the statutes
and broken the everlasting covenant.
Therefore a curse consumes the earth; its people must bear their guilt."
(Isaiah 24:4-6a)
In a trumpet blast,
in a coming King,
in a righteous Judge who makes all things right,
God, ignite my hope.
"In that day the LORD will punish
the powers in the heavens above
and the kings on the earth below.
They will be herded together
like prisoners bound in a dungeon...
(and "...if anyone causes one of these little ones who believe in me to sin, it would be better for him to have a large millstone hung around his neck and to be drowned in the depths of the sea..." Matt. 18:6)
The moon will be abashed, the sun ashamed; for the LORD Almighty will reign on Mount Zion and in Jerusalem, and before its elders, gloriously."
(Isaiah 24:21-22a)
For now,
You are a refuge, in driving heat and wind. A tower in which we shelter.
But one day, we'll feast on a mountain,
wide open.
Ruthless rebellion silenced at last.
"...as heat is reduced by the shadow of a cloud, so the song of the ruthless is stilled.
On this mountain the LORD Almighty will prepare
a feast of rich foods for all peoples...
On this mountain he will destroy the shroud that enfolds all peoples,
the sheet that covers all nations;
he will swallow up death forever.
The Sovereign LORD will wipe away the tears from all faces;
he will remove the disgrace of his people from all the earth.
The LORD has spoken."
(Isaiah 25:5b-8)
God give your people -- give me -- the power to endure.
And to endure a-shouting,
shouting out Your praise,
declaring all Your Word.
14: "Smell my bookbag. It smells like fish."
The above is the quote of the day. Spoken in all sincerity and with a bit of a confused grimace by my sweet S. in morning assembly, just as we were supposed to be standing to attention and looking forward.
This morning we spoke of worshiping forever. With people from every tribe, language, nation. We spoke praise in the four languages of our classroom. We learned the rest of 'Worthy is the Lamb' and talked about the sacrificial lambs of Old Testament Israel, and our own dear Lamb who spilled His blood.
And then,
it was another very rough day. Kids in the office. Me aching inside.
This morning we spoke of worshiping forever. With people from every tribe, language, nation. We spoke praise in the four languages of our classroom. We learned the rest of 'Worthy is the Lamb' and talked about the sacrificial lambs of Old Testament Israel, and our own dear Lamb who spilled His blood.
And then,
it was another very rough day. Kids in the office. Me aching inside.
15: A Crumpled Classroom.
We spoke this morning about the last judgment. A day both terrible and wonderful at the same time. The All-Knowing Judge on the throne.
We have a behavior system in our class, the classic green-yellow-red cards thing. You start on green in the morning, then change your card when you disobey, and there are consequences for changed colors. As we spoke about the Great and Terrible Day, I revealed their card-holder, with every card flipped to red. Gasps. This is very important to them, the color they are on.
Every one of us is utterly 'red' in His sight.
(I'm glad I don't have any kids who are denying that they're sinners. That's a good thing. Every one agreed they do wrong.)
We should tremble at the idea of judgment, at the knowledge that every deed will be revealed. We talked about those deeds.
And then we witnessed the wonder
of being covered by the 'green' of Jesus. The only perfect, truly 'green' one covers our red card with His perfect righteousness. And God sees green. We talked about how to know this will be true of us.
And then the rest of the day began.
They were HORRENDOUS. ALL DAY. To a level I've not experienced for a week or two now. I cried a little once I'd dropped them off at their outside class. So did my aide.
They seem
impenetrable.
Fortresses against learning.
Battlements against obedience.
Every. Word. ignored.
Every action unspeakably wild, cruel, disrespectful, or immature.
Why, oh why, are there Kindergarteners who know the F-word? Lord, save us.
And why do they look for evil in everything?
Oh how they need the clothing of Christ.
Oh how I need the clothing of Christ.
God, forgive me for when my heart gives up on these children.
I long for them to be more inquisitive. More articulate,
as I KNOW children their age can be.
Wild lumps of disobedience and foul thoughts -- is this all they want to be? All they will let themselves be? God STOP their self-destructive behavior.
God, get me through this with some glimmer of hope.
We have a behavior system in our class, the classic green-yellow-red cards thing. You start on green in the morning, then change your card when you disobey, and there are consequences for changed colors. As we spoke about the Great and Terrible Day, I revealed their card-holder, with every card flipped to red. Gasps. This is very important to them, the color they are on.
Every one of us is utterly 'red' in His sight.
(I'm glad I don't have any kids who are denying that they're sinners. That's a good thing. Every one agreed they do wrong.)
We should tremble at the idea of judgment, at the knowledge that every deed will be revealed. We talked about those deeds.
And then we witnessed the wonder
of being covered by the 'green' of Jesus. The only perfect, truly 'green' one covers our red card with His perfect righteousness. And God sees green. We talked about how to know this will be true of us.
And then the rest of the day began.
They were HORRENDOUS. ALL DAY. To a level I've not experienced for a week or two now. I cried a little once I'd dropped them off at their outside class. So did my aide.
They seem
impenetrable.
Fortresses against learning.
Battlements against obedience.
Every. Word. ignored.
Every action unspeakably wild, cruel, disrespectful, or immature.
Why, oh why, are there Kindergarteners who know the F-word? Lord, save us.
And why do they look for evil in everything?
Oh how they need the clothing of Christ.
Oh how I need the clothing of Christ.
God, forgive me for when my heart gives up on these children.
I long for them to be more inquisitive. More articulate,
as I KNOW children their age can be.
Wild lumps of disobedience and foul thoughts -- is this all they want to be? All they will let themselves be? God STOP their self-destructive behavior.
God, get me through this with some glimmer of hope.
16 left.
Two days that feel like coasting... they just...went by. That's rather amazing.
Today we made badges to point people to our King, to remind ourselves of the call to be part of the true Kingdom, while we're here in the crumples. "To the King!" they wrote, and glued their little construction paper crowns on green circles, then slapped them on their shirts with masking tape. Hurrah! In the twinkling of an eye, we heard today. With a trumpet blast, we heard today! We made our own trumpet noises. And dreamed of a sound the whole world can hear. Be ready, be ready, be ready....
At naptime today, i heard a sudden trumpeting from the carpet zone. I trip-toe over chairs and feet to get to F., who's sprawled among the beanbags. "I'm glad you're trumpeting," I tell him, "and we might hear God's trumpet any time now. But naptime is not the right time for YOU to make your own trumpeting sound. Please wait till we're outside." He wants me to make him a trumpet. I improvise with yellow construction paper. Human trumpets just don't last. We need the real one.
Today we made badges to point people to our King, to remind ourselves of the call to be part of the true Kingdom, while we're here in the crumples. "To the King!" they wrote, and glued their little construction paper crowns on green circles, then slapped them on their shirts with masking tape. Hurrah! In the twinkling of an eye, we heard today. With a trumpet blast, we heard today! We made our own trumpet noises. And dreamed of a sound the whole world can hear. Be ready, be ready, be ready....
At naptime today, i heard a sudden trumpeting from the carpet zone. I trip-toe over chairs and feet to get to F., who's sprawled among the beanbags. "I'm glad you're trumpeting," I tell him, "and we might hear God's trumpet any time now. But naptime is not the right time for YOU to make your own trumpeting sound. Please wait till we're outside." He wants me to make him a trumpet. I improvise with yellow construction paper. Human trumpets just don't last. We need the real one.
17. (19 lived and written.: The Crumpled Kingdom.
Monday. I'm to be blessed by what I'm teaching them in Bible this week. We are looking at the world through the True Paradigm of the King and His Kingdom. And then we are celebrating the coming return of the King. A celebration with a warning. "So then, you must also be ready, for the Son of Man will come at an hour when you do not expect Him."
We start with a beautiful Kingdom. Beauty sketched in simple symbols with pastels on green construction paper. Stick figures. A river of fish. A yellow sun. A flower. And then, the Kingdom is crumpled. All disfigured and vandalized by our rebellion, by the actions of our now-filthy hearts. Oh how the King of this Crumpled Kingdom is saddened. But He still speaks. And a few still turn their ears to hear. From within the crumples, their ears incline to the Creator-King. And then, one day, He sends His Son, His representative, His beloved, Himself, into the midst of it all. Down into the crumpled kingdom. Incline your ears, Kingdom-people, King-followers. Are they open? Do you hear? The King Himself is here. . .
And here, here He took upon Himself the punishment, the payment, for the terrible vandalism we have done to the King's beautiful work. The terrible pain we have caused the great King's heart. So now the Kingdom is among us. within us. The Kingdom is here.
And today, after the Son has returned to His Father, and left the gift with us, left Himself in His Spirit, we who still long for the King wait for the Kingdom to be restored in full. In FULL.
We live, dear children, in the last chapter of a story. The story of the Kingdom. And we're waiting for the King to keep His promise
to come back.
"To the King!" we holler together.
And we pray to be big-eared people. Listening for the voice of the King
here among the crumples.
We start with a beautiful Kingdom. Beauty sketched in simple symbols with pastels on green construction paper. Stick figures. A river of fish. A yellow sun. A flower. And then, the Kingdom is crumpled. All disfigured and vandalized by our rebellion, by the actions of our now-filthy hearts. Oh how the King of this Crumpled Kingdom is saddened. But He still speaks. And a few still turn their ears to hear. From within the crumples, their ears incline to the Creator-King. And then, one day, He sends His Son, His representative, His beloved, Himself, into the midst of it all. Down into the crumpled kingdom. Incline your ears, Kingdom-people, King-followers. Are they open? Do you hear? The King Himself is here. . .
And here, here He took upon Himself the punishment, the payment, for the terrible vandalism we have done to the King's beautiful work. The terrible pain we have caused the great King's heart. So now the Kingdom is among us. within us. The Kingdom is here.
And today, after the Son has returned to His Father, and left the gift with us, left Himself in His Spirit, we who still long for the King wait for the Kingdom to be restored in full. In FULL.
We live, dear children, in the last chapter of a story. The story of the Kingdom. And we're waiting for the King to keep His promise
to come back.
"To the King!" we holler together.
And we pray to be big-eared people. Listening for the voice of the King
here among the crumples.
Friday, May 15, 2009
18 (or eighteen! we meet in the middle.)
First, a note unrelated to Kindergarten. Watch the ballet which I was quite delighted to enjoy at Lincoln Center this evening! It's going to be filmed and aired live on PBS, as 'Live from Lincoln Center,' next Thursday, May 21. Romeo and Juliet, by the New York City Ballet. Beautiful. Prokofiev. The brilliant simplicity of good pantomime. And people who fly without cables or wings. That's a wonder.
Today I felt better... and realized at the end of the day that it's because I didn't really teach a lesson today at all. Chapel time, gym, and standardized testing ate up the morning, and a birthday party ate up the afternoon. So other than a 'math race' center at free time, leading the testing process, teaching a review Bible lesson this morning (summing up Saul/Paul and the idea of people changed by the Gospel then going out and sharing it with others), and reading a story, I was off-duty. Not trying to orchestrate some raucous activity followed by workbook pages in the effort to cram material into their brains. It was a relief. And I was better able to be firm-handed in discipline because of it.
rant (skippable): I think teachers, at least in environments like ours, need a constant in-room Disciplinarian, so as to be able to actually focus on teaching. Imagine having to stop in the middle of every sentence you say to insert a child's name, a 'look up here, please,' a 'please sit on your bottom,' or an 'excuse me; please don't talk on top of my voice.' Every sentence you say. And it's a different kid virtually every time. Oh help oh help oh help.
May i mention that teaching makes you a little bit delusional? Tonight at Lincoln Center, a giant, glittery theater full of people, of elegantly-clad strangers, I realized that part of me really believed it completely possible and sensible to stand up and teacher-speak to the whole theater. Like the whole world is my Kindergarten class, and it is my endless duty to lead and shepherd everyone in it. (What strange things are happening to my brain?)
The birthday cake was good. And a potentially-rocky after-school parent meeting went fine.
Lord, forgive; Lord, redeem; Lord, renew; Lord, restore. Amen,
amen.
19. (or seventeen.): A Tired Pirate.
The highlight of today: impromptu piracy. I gave J. his own "center" at free time -- supplied him with construction paper, ribbon, scissors, glue, paper bags, popsicle sticks, and said he could lead the kids who came to his center in whatever endeavor he could dream up.
He rolled paper into a cone and was delighted to discover he'd made a telescope! When told it could also be a megaphone (in not so many words), he was adamant: No. It's a telescope. For "doing like this: Arr." (finger used as hook-hand.) Tie a ribbon around the bottom and you have an elegant piratescope. I inadvertently mentioned the word 'eye patch' and suddenly found myself commissioned to make eyepatches out of paper bags and string. I'm not the craftiest of individuals, but that almost makes it funnier, really. Two kids wandering around with eye patches, taking them very seriously, asking me to repair them when the string fell off, etc. "Ar," say they. I try to channel the pirate mood to help motivate them to clean up. The colored blocks are all over the floor. Each pirate is assigned a color of block as their own 'treasure.' Who can collect most? This works for some of them for quite some time. Let's say it's developing good visual discrimination skills.
Also enjoyed the 'Splotch Collage' activity today. For our 'morning work,' I commissioned them to make a splotch. Any shape, in their Explorer notebooks. Station 1: crayons, 2: markers, 3: patterned papers and scraps to glue in mosaic-style -- or any-other-style. They made some quality splotches. And really got into it. We put them all together in a collage at the end. I wish this were all I did. Splotches and such.
These highlights make things sound rather peachy. Pirates and artistic adventures...
but honestly,
today I was mad. Mad at them. For their apparent inability or unwillingness to ever obey a request/order/direction the first time they are asked. For their sabotaging learning activities by yelling, by having conversations with one another instead of listening to directions; for making me constantly have to address them, one by one by one by one by one, over and over and over and over again. And then they complain that something is 'boring.' It started raining during recess today. They had to come in. Music practicers were using their indoor recess area. They had to sit and watch. This put them in a foul mood in the afternoon.
I'm tired of hearing my own voice saying obnoxious teacher things.
I ended the day sitting them down and praying over them, for our willingness and ability to learn and obey. I warned them that tomorrow would be serious business. Follow directions the first time, or 'change your card.' A red card means you leave the room. Period.
Do you know how often I have resolved to be merciless this year? So many times.
I wondered today if I will be a bad mother. Inconsistent, too weak... not on top of enough things.
I am so tired of loving such disrespectful children.
He rolled paper into a cone and was delighted to discover he'd made a telescope! When told it could also be a megaphone (in not so many words), he was adamant: No. It's a telescope. For "doing like this: Arr." (finger used as hook-hand.) Tie a ribbon around the bottom and you have an elegant piratescope. I inadvertently mentioned the word 'eye patch' and suddenly found myself commissioned to make eyepatches out of paper bags and string. I'm not the craftiest of individuals, but that almost makes it funnier, really. Two kids wandering around with eye patches, taking them very seriously, asking me to repair them when the string fell off, etc. "Ar," say they. I try to channel the pirate mood to help motivate them to clean up. The colored blocks are all over the floor. Each pirate is assigned a color of block as their own 'treasure.' Who can collect most? This works for some of them for quite some time. Let's say it's developing good visual discrimination skills.
Also enjoyed the 'Splotch Collage' activity today. For our 'morning work,' I commissioned them to make a splotch. Any shape, in their Explorer notebooks. Station 1: crayons, 2: markers, 3: patterned papers and scraps to glue in mosaic-style -- or any-other-style. They made some quality splotches. And really got into it. We put them all together in a collage at the end. I wish this were all I did. Splotches and such.
These highlights make things sound rather peachy. Pirates and artistic adventures...
but honestly,
today I was mad. Mad at them. For their apparent inability or unwillingness to ever obey a request/order/direction the first time they are asked. For their sabotaging learning activities by yelling, by having conversations with one another instead of listening to directions; for making me constantly have to address them, one by one by one by one by one, over and over and over and over again. And then they complain that something is 'boring.' It started raining during recess today. They had to come in. Music practicers were using their indoor recess area. They had to sit and watch. This put them in a foul mood in the afternoon.
I'm tired of hearing my own voice saying obnoxious teacher things.
I ended the day sitting them down and praying over them, for our willingness and ability to learn and obey. I warned them that tomorrow would be serious business. Follow directions the first time, or 'change your card.' A red card means you leave the room. Period.
Do you know how often I have resolved to be merciless this year? So many times.
I wondered today if I will be a bad mother. Inconsistent, too weak... not on top of enough things.
I am so tired of loving such disrespectful children.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
20. (Or sixteen.): small wonders
Standardized testing today involved a story about a factory. Seven kids at once: "Like Willy Wonka!" Thanks to Mr. Wonka, they all got the test question right.
Last night, the incredibly apt and tender gift of a sunset seen from the top of the Empire State Building. Perspective. Thank You.
Interesting, as always, though, how physical size is no indicator whatsoever of true impact, importance, weight, power. 13 tiny children, far off in the haze, down in the labyrinths of the Lego-city,
but one, just one of them, could change so much
of the world.
And one can make me a crazy person.
And one cannot be dreamed up by the human mind or formed by human hands.
"Poems are made by fools like me... but only God can make..." a small person. Wonder as great as the distant galaxies and the pink sky layers behind the setting sun.
Today they drove me batty. They do. Not. Listen. To a single direction given. Every. Single. Direction. Must be repeated. Fifteen times. Batty. (oh, Lord, help me to face them, and not snap into pieces, again tomorrow.)
Today's charming quote, from my floppy F., on what he wants to be when he grows up. "I'm going to do.... the whole world! Paint the whole world rainbows."
G., on the other hand, has very concrete expectations of the future. When she grows up? "A laptop. I'm going to have a laptop." She also thinks she can speak Chinese. In fact, she thinks she was born in China. She tells her mother this frequently. Her mother throws up her hands. What can you do? I consider this one of the great legacies to her of her year in Kindergarten, and expect to hear of her missionary journeys to Asia
someday.
Last night, the incredibly apt and tender gift of a sunset seen from the top of the Empire State Building. Perspective. Thank You.
Interesting, as always, though, how physical size is no indicator whatsoever of true impact, importance, weight, power. 13 tiny children, far off in the haze, down in the labyrinths of the Lego-city,
but one, just one of them, could change so much
of the world.
And one can make me a crazy person.
And one cannot be dreamed up by the human mind or formed by human hands.
"Poems are made by fools like me... but only God can make..." a small person. Wonder as great as the distant galaxies and the pink sky layers behind the setting sun.
Today they drove me batty. They do. Not. Listen. To a single direction given. Every. Single. Direction. Must be repeated. Fifteen times. Batty. (oh, Lord, help me to face them, and not snap into pieces, again tomorrow.)
Today's charming quote, from my floppy F., on what he wants to be when he grows up. "I'm going to do.... the whole world! Paint the whole world rainbows."
G., on the other hand, has very concrete expectations of the future. When she grows up? "A laptop. I'm going to have a laptop." She also thinks she can speak Chinese. In fact, she thinks she was born in China. She tells her mother this frequently. Her mother throws up her hands. What can you do? I consider this one of the great legacies to her of her year in Kindergarten, and expect to hear of her missionary journeys to Asia
someday.
21 [remaining] (or fifteen [since starting blog-commitment].): Punctuated. ! ? , "
(the explanation of the numbers in the title is a shout-out to one M. McD. You know who you are...)
A quote from today... My M. whispered in my ear while I led an animal-clue-game center at free time... with no real context, no warning, just a sudden approach and whisper, "You know, you can be nice to the monster. [pause] They have feelings too." Shared as a profound piece of discovered information, not really as relevant-to-the-moment advice.
"That's true! Hey, where did you hear that?" I reply, quite delighted.
Shrugs. "I just knew it."
This child makes me very happy.
Decided to try a punctuation lesson today. Went better than expected. A little more advanced content than standard for Kindergarten. But I tend to go with my instincts as to what they will be capable of, and what's important in our classroom probably doesn't always match up to the 'standards of standards' standards. As evidenced by a question on the standardized testing we took today: "Which of these things is valuable because it is hard to find? Silver, grass, or sand? Mark under the picture of something that is valuable because it is hard to find."
Half of my kids marked grass. And I was very, very proud of them. (and a little saddened by the rarity of grass in their lives. But mostly proud. Valuable is often in the heart of the beholder...)
As for punctuation, I read them a bit of our latest readaloud, 'The Great Glass Elevator,' as if it were totally unpunctuated, and with no expression. Then read it properly. They enjoyed this. Wanted me to keep doing it. This made me glad. I think they get the point of punctuation now. They went on (as 'Quentin Questioner,' 'Emily Exclaimer,' and 'Pamela/Peter Period') to try out the expressive effects of different punctuation marks at the end of some sample sentences.
J-girl called an exclamation point an "excited point" this afternoon. Hurrah!
Also got to tell the story of the time I found a snake in my bedroom (in Texas) three times over. They like this story.
and yes, I am still, disciplinarily, losing my mind.
But I think I'm blessed these days with more of an ability to keep the mind-losing in a different compartment from the love-ing, and from the being-happy-to-be-alive, parts of my emotions and actions.
Every blessing you pour out
I'll turn back to praise.
A quote from today... My M. whispered in my ear while I led an animal-clue-game center at free time... with no real context, no warning, just a sudden approach and whisper, "You know, you can be nice to the monster. [pause] They have feelings too." Shared as a profound piece of discovered information, not really as relevant-to-the-moment advice.
"That's true! Hey, where did you hear that?" I reply, quite delighted.
Shrugs. "I just knew it."
This child makes me very happy.
Decided to try a punctuation lesson today. Went better than expected. A little more advanced content than standard for Kindergarten. But I tend to go with my instincts as to what they will be capable of, and what's important in our classroom probably doesn't always match up to the 'standards of standards' standards. As evidenced by a question on the standardized testing we took today: "Which of these things is valuable because it is hard to find? Silver, grass, or sand? Mark under the picture of something that is valuable because it is hard to find."
Half of my kids marked grass. And I was very, very proud of them. (and a little saddened by the rarity of grass in their lives. But mostly proud. Valuable is often in the heart of the beholder...)
As for punctuation, I read them a bit of our latest readaloud, 'The Great Glass Elevator,' as if it were totally unpunctuated, and with no expression. Then read it properly. They enjoyed this. Wanted me to keep doing it. This made me glad. I think they get the point of punctuation now. They went on (as 'Quentin Questioner,' 'Emily Exclaimer,' and 'Pamela/Peter Period') to try out the expressive effects of different punctuation marks at the end of some sample sentences.
J-girl called an exclamation point an "excited point" this afternoon. Hurrah!
Also got to tell the story of the time I found a snake in my bedroom (in Texas) three times over. They like this story.
and yes, I am still, disciplinarily, losing my mind.
But I think I'm blessed these days with more of an ability to keep the mind-losing in a different compartment from the love-ing, and from the being-happy-to-be-alive, parts of my emotions and actions.
Every blessing you pour out
I'll turn back to praise.
Monday, May 11, 2009
22. (or fourteen.) no specifics today...
...only this from Charles Spurgeon, which I shared--with some vocabulary modifications--with the childers this morning (emphasis mine):"My soul, I charge thee, lay up thy treasure in the only secure cabinet; store thy jewels where thou canst never lose them. Put thine all in Christ; set all thine affections on His person, all thy hope in His merit, all thy trust in His efficacious blood, all thy joy in His presence...Remember that all the flowers in the world's garden fade by turns, and the day cometh when nothing will be left but the black, cold earth. Death's black extinguisher must soon put out thy candle. Oh! how sweet to have sunlight when the candle is gone! The dark flood must soon roll between thee and all thou hast; then wed thine heart to Him who will never leave thee..."
Amen.
Friday, May 08, 2009
23. (or thirteen.): respite.
A concert today. Children dressed to the nines. Suddenly their parents whisk them away and you're left with only five, and
the whole world feels different.
What's my job, again?
Every moment
radically changed by the sudden shift in dynamic...
we hung out,
we napped,
we went to the park. I played tag and pushed swings. We held hands all the way there and sang "Glory, glory, hallelujah, He reigns." (They like the part about the powers of darkness trembling "at
what they've just heard." They are delighted that Satan shakes in his boots because we praise God.)
Hallelujah.
Thursday, May 07, 2009
24. (twelve.): how long, o Lord?
" Confuse the wicked, O Lord, confound their speech,
for I see violence and strife in the city . . .
Destructive forces are at work in the city;
threats and lies never leave its streets.
... God, who is enthroned forever,
will hear them and afflict them—
men who never change their ways
and have no fear of God.
... Cast your cares on the LORD
and he will sustain you;
he will never let the righteous fall... as for me, I trust in you. "
[portions of Psalm 55.]
Rough. Rough.
And it's interesting how it seems to come in epidemics, in waves. Other teachers with shellshocked expressions at the end of the day, too. Just like me. I could have cried in front of them today. The children, that is. So frustrated with their rudeness and total disobedience today. Unbelievable.
Or is it? Psalm 55 knew them before I did. We have been suffering the pain of wickedness for millennia. Millennia.
Destructive forces at work in the way they're being raised. Or not being raised. The expectations not being placed on them.
You will judge those who reject You. I pray that my children won't be those. But if they are... May I give You the pain of seeing them sin, Lord? Of being the very object of their rudeness, disregard, and arrogance?
You healed and faced every form of sin's distortion, Lord; Spurgeon reminded me of this this morning. Every form of sickness. Every color of harm that sin does. The particular 'diseases' of each child in my care. Oh, Father. I cannot bear it all. You do. You did. Please help me cast it out. Please call them to repent. In Your time, Lord. In Your time...
meanwhile. I had to send three out today. It feels sometimes
like I just can't take it anymore.
Oh how I need You.
Oh how hard it can be to remember You fully during the day.
But I've never known You fully. There's so much more of You yet to know, yet to know.
And I must trust that You're revealing more through even this.
Okay, here it is: the question of the day. It's worth the wait, really. The same lad who's been asking after my future sons and daughters today asked, during afternoon math time, out of the blue: "God didn't give you a man yet?"
as if I should have picked one up with my lunch today. . .
[My dear Visiting Friend says tomorrow will be bring-your-teacher-a-husband day for teacher appreciation week. Mercy!]
I did love, today, the sound of three of them giggling uncontrollably. Silly geese.
sigh.
Your Kingdom come
Your Kingdom come!
Your Kingdom, come.
for I see violence and strife in the city . . .
Destructive forces are at work in the city;
threats and lies never leave its streets.
... God, who is enthroned forever,
will hear them and afflict them—
men who never change their ways
and have no fear of God.
... Cast your cares on the LORD
and he will sustain you;
he will never let the righteous fall... as for me, I trust in you. "
[portions of Psalm 55.]
Rough. Rough.
And it's interesting how it seems to come in epidemics, in waves. Other teachers with shellshocked expressions at the end of the day, too. Just like me. I could have cried in front of them today. The children, that is. So frustrated with their rudeness and total disobedience today. Unbelievable.
Or is it? Psalm 55 knew them before I did. We have been suffering the pain of wickedness for millennia. Millennia.
Destructive forces at work in the way they're being raised. Or not being raised. The expectations not being placed on them.
You will judge those who reject You. I pray that my children won't be those. But if they are... May I give You the pain of seeing them sin, Lord? Of being the very object of their rudeness, disregard, and arrogance?
You healed and faced every form of sin's distortion, Lord; Spurgeon reminded me of this this morning. Every form of sickness. Every color of harm that sin does. The particular 'diseases' of each child in my care. Oh, Father. I cannot bear it all. You do. You did. Please help me cast it out. Please call them to repent. In Your time, Lord. In Your time...
meanwhile. I had to send three out today. It feels sometimes
like I just can't take it anymore.
Oh how I need You.
Oh how hard it can be to remember You fully during the day.
But I've never known You fully. There's so much more of You yet to know, yet to know.
And I must trust that You're revealing more through even this.
Okay, here it is: the question of the day. It's worth the wait, really. The same lad who's been asking after my future sons and daughters today asked, during afternoon math time, out of the blue: "God didn't give you a man yet?"
as if I should have picked one up with my lunch today. . .
[My dear Visiting Friend says tomorrow will be bring-your-teacher-a-husband day for teacher appreciation week. Mercy!]
I did love, today, the sound of three of them giggling uncontrollably. Silly geese.
sigh.
Your Kingdom come
Your Kingdom come!
Your Kingdom, come.
25. (eleven.): how do you type a bellow?
Highlight of the day: as part of teacher appreciation week, the parent association sent the word out that today was 'bring something sweet for your teacher' day. Much chocolate brought. But I liked the creativity of flan. He called it 'cake.' And made rules for me about who could have some. I also liked the one who didn't bring anything in but made the effort to handcraft a very large construction paper cookie for me at free time. He was excited about it. And he's not normally a crafter. This blessed me. I stuck a magnet on the back and shall save and display it forever. Or for as long as a construction paper cookie lasts.
question of the day (from flan-boy) : "When are you going to get a son or a daughter?"
My response... "Well, God has to give me a husband first, bud..."
Keep that in mind. It will make tomorrow's question of the day funnier.
They were really awful today. Really disobedient. It was hard.
Went to a forum tonight about police-community relations. A really neat idea being started here in the Bronx by New York Faith and Justice. Thought about the parallels between police work and teacher-work. The strangeness of occupying a job where anger is a daily hazard. A constant experience. The unhealth of such a thing. The difficulty of explaining it to anyone who doesn't work in such a rhythm. Constant disciplining, reprimanding, consequence-ing. I ached with it today. Hurt with it. It hammered at my innards, pummeled to get out. I couldn't stand to say the same thing to them one... more... time.... Oh Lord, grant Your Truly Unique wisdom to us, to we who need so much to miraculously balance righteous anger with forgiveness and mercy. How do we do it, Lord? We are not You.
Surrendering to Your sovereignty; You are the ultimate judge. You WILL judge. I think the key lies in there.
question of the day (from flan-boy) : "When are you going to get a son or a daughter?"
My response... "Well, God has to give me a husband first, bud..."
Keep that in mind. It will make tomorrow's question of the day funnier.
They were really awful today. Really disobedient. It was hard.
Went to a forum tonight about police-community relations. A really neat idea being started here in the Bronx by New York Faith and Justice. Thought about the parallels between police work and teacher-work. The strangeness of occupying a job where anger is a daily hazard. A constant experience. The unhealth of such a thing. The difficulty of explaining it to anyone who doesn't work in such a rhythm. Constant disciplining, reprimanding, consequence-ing. I ached with it today. Hurt with it. It hammered at my innards, pummeled to get out. I couldn't stand to say the same thing to them one... more... time.... Oh Lord, grant Your Truly Unique wisdom to us, to we who need so much to miraculously balance righteous anger with forgiveness and mercy. How do we do it, Lord? We are not You.
Surrendering to Your sovereignty; You are the ultimate judge. You WILL judge. I think the key lies in there.
26. (ten.) : In which the visitor arrives.
This day was made brighter by the knowledge
that a dear friend would appear in it at some point,
unexpected and out of place,
a sunbeam-alien, she suddenly walked into pre-K concert practice.
Our visitor has come! And she will bless this week with her fresh perspective
and prodigious artistic gifts. I told the gang that she's the one who painted our classroom walls. Painted our tree. Our teepee. Our house. Our leaves. Our treasure box. Our lamp. All the mural-ificence we are blessed by on a daily basis.
They were impressed. "How did you become an artist?" "You're a good painter."
She's here, she's here! Hurrah, she's here!
As I was explaining why math is my least favorite thing to teach the small folk, she uttered the quote of the day: "Yeah. I think math is the thing I hate most in the entire world...besides sin." "Math and sin," we have repeated occasionally since. "Math and sin."
My favorite blessing of the day (it makes a big difference to have something you're really excited to share with them... and this one, God blessed with attentiveness on their parts): "church trees."
Months ago, I heard somewhere (I think in a sermon at my remarkable church here) this fact that I mentally filed away under the label "the secret of the trees:" that if a tree has good roots, then the wind that comes against it actually makes those roots stronger.
This is worth chewing on for some time.
I jotted it down to share with the kiddos when we got to the Church age in our journey through Scripture. And we got there this week. We're talking about "go into all the world," the basic concept of the disciples going, telling, and God's family then expanding. The global Church. The idea of the good news. And our responsibility to share it.
The idea appeared in me to make 'Church trees' together, out of paper bags. When they stand on their own, rootless, they can be blown right over. But put the bag on your hand, with your arm as the root, and there's no toppling it. We drew faces on the trees on the bag and glued green felt scraps on for leaves, mosaic-style. Very simple. What touched me was how responsive they were to the idea of the secret of the trees. To my statement that our roots are the fact of the crucifixion, the atonement, and the resurrection. "We know that we know that we know that we know," said we about those truths. And those are our roots. God whispered as I spoke, "Tell them that this is why you teach them the Gospel over and over and over. To give them strong roots, so they won't be easily toppled." I told them.
We talked about the persecution of the Church. How it will fall over if it does not cling to the Truth about who Jesus is. How we may be whipped, spit on, stoned, jailed, scolded, mocked, but when we know that we know that we know that He is Lord, then those winds only make our roots stronger. They got this metaphor. To a degree that I didn't expect them to get it. Thank you, Lord, for the "smallest" ideas. Plant these seeds in their hearts to stay. To grow. To take root. amen.
that a dear friend would appear in it at some point,
unexpected and out of place,
a sunbeam-alien, she suddenly walked into pre-K concert practice.
Our visitor has come! And she will bless this week with her fresh perspective
and prodigious artistic gifts. I told the gang that she's the one who painted our classroom walls. Painted our tree. Our teepee. Our house. Our leaves. Our treasure box. Our lamp. All the mural-ificence we are blessed by on a daily basis.
They were impressed. "How did you become an artist?" "You're a good painter."
She's here, she's here! Hurrah, she's here!
As I was explaining why math is my least favorite thing to teach the small folk, she uttered the quote of the day: "Yeah. I think math is the thing I hate most in the entire world...besides sin." "Math and sin," we have repeated occasionally since. "Math and sin."
My favorite blessing of the day (it makes a big difference to have something you're really excited to share with them... and this one, God blessed with attentiveness on their parts): "church trees."
Months ago, I heard somewhere (I think in a sermon at my remarkable church here) this fact that I mentally filed away under the label "the secret of the trees:" that if a tree has good roots, then the wind that comes against it actually makes those roots stronger.
This is worth chewing on for some time.
I jotted it down to share with the kiddos when we got to the Church age in our journey through Scripture. And we got there this week. We're talking about "go into all the world," the basic concept of the disciples going, telling, and God's family then expanding. The global Church. The idea of the good news. And our responsibility to share it.
The idea appeared in me to make 'Church trees' together, out of paper bags. When they stand on their own, rootless, they can be blown right over. But put the bag on your hand, with your arm as the root, and there's no toppling it. We drew faces on the trees on the bag and glued green felt scraps on for leaves, mosaic-style. Very simple. What touched me was how responsive they were to the idea of the secret of the trees. To my statement that our roots are the fact of the crucifixion, the atonement, and the resurrection. "We know that we know that we know that we know," said we about those truths. And those are our roots. God whispered as I spoke, "Tell them that this is why you teach them the Gospel over and over and over. To give them strong roots, so they won't be easily toppled." I told them.
We talked about the persecution of the Church. How it will fall over if it does not cling to the Truth about who Jesus is. How we may be whipped, spit on, stoned, jailed, scolded, mocked, but when we know that we know that we know that He is Lord, then those winds only make our roots stronger. They got this metaphor. To a degree that I didn't expect them to get it. Thank you, Lord, for the "smallest" ideas. Plant these seeds in their hearts to stay. To grow. To take root. amen.
Monday, May 04, 2009
27. (nine.) Kookaroaches.
A tough one.
What have I to say? I'm sorry. Not much. They were so disobedient today.
One good moment, at least -- we were talking about good news this morning, in the context of sharing the wonderful news of Jesus... and my M., who is back at last after a week of allergy absence said "I have some good news and some bad news. You want the bad news or the good news first?" He is unstoppable once he gets a gleam in his eye. The words roll out like water down a cliff. "The good news is there are no more kookaroaches in the bathroom." (that's exactly how he pronounces it.) "That is good news," say I, rather tickled. "The bad news..." he says, building up to it... "is that the kookaroaches are in your room!" He's delighted with himself. From here on, there is rather a fixation in the discussion on clean bathrooms as good news.
I'm glad M.'s back.
What have I to say? I'm sorry. Not much. They were so disobedient today.
One good moment, at least -- we were talking about good news this morning, in the context of sharing the wonderful news of Jesus... and my M., who is back at last after a week of allergy absence said "I have some good news and some bad news. You want the bad news or the good news first?" He is unstoppable once he gets a gleam in his eye. The words roll out like water down a cliff. "The good news is there are no more kookaroaches in the bathroom." (that's exactly how he pronounces it.) "That is good news," say I, rather tickled. "The bad news..." he says, building up to it... "is that the kookaroaches are in your room!" He's delighted with himself. From here on, there is rather a fixation in the discussion on clean bathrooms as good news.
I'm glad M.'s back.
Friday, May 01, 2009
28. (eight) : "I Miss My Ant."
F., at naptime, spoken low to me with the air of imparting a universal truth: “Did you know what the number of the day is? The number of the day is 18.” I assume he is talking about the date, since we talk about that frequently in Kindergarten. The date is, in fact, not the 18th, but I’m interested in his thought process. “Really?” I say. “And the letter of the day is B.” “How do you know?” I ask. “It’s on the Sesame Street,” says he. Of course it is. First it takes me three days to hear about the swine flu, and now I’m out of the loop on this too. So in case you were wondering: 18. B. Now you know.
I take them outside this morning for a little fresh air, and after a few races back and forth in the street, I discover that their latest obsession is ant-finding. It’s surprisingly difficult. This is New York City. I must confess, it’s a little pathetic to see them clustered around the slimmest sliver of semi-earth, just a line of dust between the sidewalk and the side of the school building, really, peering down in an intense search for the tiniest sign of life. For any living thing. Five heads clustered around one black dot that may or may not be an actual ant. J.-girl is the ant-hunt champion, with a grand total of two today. She lets her ant crawl along her arm as other girls run and scream in mock terror. “Wait for it, wait for it,” she says.
I go ant-hunting but have no success. I tell them that when I was little I made a twiddlebug house out of a milk carton. I want them to do it too. I want to do that with my own children someday. O. finds an ant and clutches it in his fist. “It’s his house,” he says in his sweet little voice. “He likes it.” I make them find a new outdoor home for their ants before they can come back inside. “I miss my ant,” says O. back in the classroom. He says it about seven times. It tickles me to hear it.
This morning, they each made a second windsock, this time as a gift for a friend or family member who needs to hear about Jesus. I asked who they’d give it to, and so many instantly knew. “My dad. Because he doesn’t believe in God, and he needs to hear about Jesus, and I haven’t told him about Jesus.” “My sister, because she doesn’t know about God.” “My brother, because he comes to church, but after the singing, he leaves early.” “My brother, because he doesn’t know nothing about God.” “My mom.” One writes “Papi” on his windsock. I’ve met most of the people they’re speaking of. And I know some of the stories behind it all. These kids are perceptive. We pray for those who will receive our gifts. We pray for boldness, for the Holy Spirit’s help in telling His story. Oh how I pray that all this really sinks into them. That it’s not just pious activity or empty words. How I need help to learn to surrender and trust in the Lord’s redeeming power.
Market Day 2. Notable additions today include artificial flowers, bananas, (uncooked) rice by the cup, and little green votive candles from Ikea. “I brought candles,” J. said to me earlier in the day. He pointed to the various warnings in multiple languages on the bag. You’ve seen stuff from Ikea. You know what I mean. “You have to listen to the rules,” he said. “This is from Europe?” he asks me. “Yes!” I reply. “Actually, they are!” “My mom said that,” he affirms. I love the resourcefulness of that mom. The letter says your child has to bring something from Europe (at least in spirit), and you think Ikea! Delightful.
My floppy, funny F. has a very loose tooth. He thinks he should go home because of it. “Can I go to the office?” “Nope. But I can try to pull it out for you.” He agrees. I try. He tries. It’s not quite ready. It’s at that can-be-twisted-almost-all-the-way-around stage, but has a strong root. I remember the feeling of loose teeth so vividly. On our way out the classroom door to go downstairs for market day, F. calls to me in his special, spacey way: “If my teeth fall out, can we sell them?” “Sure,” I reply before I really know what I’m saying (this happens frequently, me speaking before I really know what I’m saying. Teachers have to speak a lot.) “Yessss!” he exults. I can’t wait till he brings ‘em in.
As a closing activity for market week, I bring up the idea once more of thinking about where things we buy come from. I start checking shirt labels again and announcing their places of manufacture. I can’t see my own shirt label, so I decide to check my shoes. (China.) Wouldn’t you know it, before long, every Kindergartener in both Kindergarten classes (the other class has by this time come out to sit with us in the afterschool waiting area) is crowding around me with a musky black sneaker in hand. “What about mine?” “What about mine?” “Where do mine come from?” All but one pair are China-made. (The exception is Indonesia.) I can only imagine how tired parents will be by the end of the weekend of having every label in their houses checked by their Kinder-consumer-reporters. Whatever message got across about ethical trade practices, I can at least be sure that curiosity about where stuff comes from has been firmly instilled.
And I
have smelled
a lot of Kindergarten feet.
I take them outside this morning for a little fresh air, and after a few races back and forth in the street, I discover that their latest obsession is ant-finding. It’s surprisingly difficult. This is New York City. I must confess, it’s a little pathetic to see them clustered around the slimmest sliver of semi-earth, just a line of dust between the sidewalk and the side of the school building, really, peering down in an intense search for the tiniest sign of life. For any living thing. Five heads clustered around one black dot that may or may not be an actual ant. J.-girl is the ant-hunt champion, with a grand total of two today. She lets her ant crawl along her arm as other girls run and scream in mock terror. “Wait for it, wait for it,” she says.
I go ant-hunting but have no success. I tell them that when I was little I made a twiddlebug house out of a milk carton. I want them to do it too. I want to do that with my own children someday. O. finds an ant and clutches it in his fist. “It’s his house,” he says in his sweet little voice. “He likes it.” I make them find a new outdoor home for their ants before they can come back inside. “I miss my ant,” says O. back in the classroom. He says it about seven times. It tickles me to hear it.
This morning, they each made a second windsock, this time as a gift for a friend or family member who needs to hear about Jesus. I asked who they’d give it to, and so many instantly knew. “My dad. Because he doesn’t believe in God, and he needs to hear about Jesus, and I haven’t told him about Jesus.” “My sister, because she doesn’t know about God.” “My brother, because he comes to church, but after the singing, he leaves early.” “My brother, because he doesn’t know nothing about God.” “My mom.” One writes “Papi” on his windsock. I’ve met most of the people they’re speaking of. And I know some of the stories behind it all. These kids are perceptive. We pray for those who will receive our gifts. We pray for boldness, for the Holy Spirit’s help in telling His story. Oh how I pray that all this really sinks into them. That it’s not just pious activity or empty words. How I need help to learn to surrender and trust in the Lord’s redeeming power.
Market Day 2. Notable additions today include artificial flowers, bananas, (uncooked) rice by the cup, and little green votive candles from Ikea. “I brought candles,” J. said to me earlier in the day. He pointed to the various warnings in multiple languages on the bag. You’ve seen stuff from Ikea. You know what I mean. “You have to listen to the rules,” he said. “This is from Europe?” he asks me. “Yes!” I reply. “Actually, they are!” “My mom said that,” he affirms. I love the resourcefulness of that mom. The letter says your child has to bring something from Europe (at least in spirit), and you think Ikea! Delightful.
My floppy, funny F. has a very loose tooth. He thinks he should go home because of it. “Can I go to the office?” “Nope. But I can try to pull it out for you.” He agrees. I try. He tries. It’s not quite ready. It’s at that can-be-twisted-almost-all-the-way-around stage, but has a strong root. I remember the feeling of loose teeth so vividly. On our way out the classroom door to go downstairs for market day, F. calls to me in his special, spacey way: “If my teeth fall out, can we sell them?” “Sure,” I reply before I really know what I’m saying (this happens frequently, me speaking before I really know what I’m saying. Teachers have to speak a lot.) “Yessss!” he exults. I can’t wait till he brings ‘em in.
As a closing activity for market week, I bring up the idea once more of thinking about where things we buy come from. I start checking shirt labels again and announcing their places of manufacture. I can’t see my own shirt label, so I decide to check my shoes. (China.) Wouldn’t you know it, before long, every Kindergartener in both Kindergarten classes (the other class has by this time come out to sit with us in the afterschool waiting area) is crowding around me with a musky black sneaker in hand. “What about mine?” “What about mine?” “Where do mine come from?” All but one pair are China-made. (The exception is Indonesia.) I can only imagine how tired parents will be by the end of the weekend of having every label in their houses checked by their Kinder-consumer-reporters. Whatever message got across about ethical trade practices, I can at least be sure that curiosity about where stuff comes from has been firmly instilled.
And I
have smelled
a lot of Kindergarten feet.
29. (seven.)
Today we made windsocks. This I love. It’s so easy, too. Some ribbon for the tails, construction paper for the cylinder-body, some string and tape for the handle… everyone wrote “and you will be my witnesses…to the ends of the earth” on the papers before rolling them into ‘sockses.’… and then we wooshed out the door to go proclaim the message of Jesus to the world, by the power of the Holy Spirit.
We ran with the windsocks a little first. Up and down the sidewalk. Red, yellow, purple, pink, green construction paper…blue and yellow tails. “God made the world!” we call out to the neighborhood. “People messed it up! I sinned! God came into the world and He died for me! Hallelujah! He’s alive!” No door can stop the Spirit. No window can stop the Spirit. No man can stop the Spirit. We hear the story of Peter and John healing the crippled man at the Beautiful gate by the Spirit’s power… how surprised the officials were; those who thought they’d rid the world of Jesus were shocked to find He’d come back in an unimaginable, unprecedented, unstoppable way. In every one of His people. The Spirit of God! … I wonder what the kiddos will remember from all of this.
Our first ‘market day’ today. I lay out one of those classic parachutes that gym and preschool teachers use for wacky and magical games with children (games that degenerate into wild chaos. I know this because I decided to use our extra time at the end of the market to use the parachute for its original purpose. Won’t be trying that again anytime soon.). Each color-space on the parachute will be a market stall. We set up shop. I ‘sell’ apples. A. sells an Ecuador t-shirt, a vase from Chile, and a drum of unknown origin (good job, A.’s parents! You actually read the letter about our activity. Thanks for that.). A2 sells her Barbie dolls and a stuffed pig. J. sells pictures gathered from our classroom. S. sells various and sundry objects gathered from our Pretend Center.
I kick it off by juggling my apples and calling out ‘Apples for sale! Come buy my apples!’ and… bam. Our market is off and running. Watch the trading instincts of humankind whir into action. Soon we’re wheeling and dealing like pros, and our market really is bustling with activity. I start with two designated shoppers at a time, but before I know it, everybody’s in, and the sellers are even selling to one another. How proud they all are of their purchases.
And today, the question. It’s an all-year question. How do you deal with righteous anger? I don’t want to feel angry. I don’t want to act angry. But darn it, they make me angry sometimes! The perpetual, repeated disrespect. I know they hear me the first time I give them a direction. Sometimes I ask them what I’ve said, just to be sure. They heard. Am I just hurt that they treat me like dirt or like a machine there for their entertainment, to be ignored whenever what comes out of my mouth doesn’t suit their purposes of the moment? I don’t know how to bear this happening all day, day after day; how to repeat myself so much. “A firm hand at first,” some would say. “You’ll prevent it from becoming a problem.” I want to answer back: Have you tried?
I want to show mercy. I seek to show mercy. Love. Grace under pressure. To model the courtesy and politeness I want so much for them to catch. But how do you...
How much God bears from us. How much God bears from me. How perfect His balance of righteous anger and merciful patience. How do I, I as a human, limited and fallible and oh, so LIMITED, die daily for my children, yet also firmly rebuke them and train them in ‘right from wrong?’ Age old question, right? With 13 children, it’s an intense one. It never stops.
30. (six.) : What thread weaves ... all this ... together ?
Lots of short peoples’ tears wept into my shirt today. Various little accidents, injuries, disappointments. Also extremely red allergy-eyes and a vomit incident. (Not both from the same kid.)
My favorite words of today: “Holy Spirit, please help the lady who got the hole in her head. For she can live, and her family can live…” This from J. the reluctant saint. Who, I would also add for background, is the most “I am not a morning person” kindergartener I have ever seen. Grumpy like an old man, I tell ya. Reticent, silent. Not awake. Cracks me up. We’ve been learning about the day of Pentecost, about the Holy Spirit. I’ve told them about the Trinity. But I hadn’t told them, really, that they could pray to the Spirit. So it blessed my heart that J. did.
His prayer was for the subject of a rather gruesome neighborhood story related by J.-girl about an elderly woman who fell and is now in the hospital.
“We need to have a talk,” says I, I says. It is a moment of rather intense frustration. “It is your job to make sure that your brain is getting exercise when you are at school. Can I open your head and pour things into your brain?” “No,” comes the fascinated response. “Even when it is someone else’s turn to talk or to read,” I go on with this somber lecture, “you can be getting smarter. If you are playing and talking instead of trying to read along and exercising your brain, then you are missing a chance for your brain to grow, and to get stronger. You can be getting ready for first grade. But it is your job to do it! I can’t make you learn what I am teaching you. I am trying my very best, but it is your job to catch it. Don’t let it walk by you.”
How many times do you have to say this to five and six year olds for it to have any effect whatsoever? A million? A trillion? Lately the title of a book I own, I Won’t Learn From You, keeps coming to mind. It’s been my goal to make learning feel like a breeze. Feel like fun. Feel like games. Delight. And yet sometimes I wonder if my doing this has made them totally clueless that they have a responsibility and an accountability in this process.
For our social studies unit on markets around the world, we practiced bargaining today. Hilarious. “Hmm. 20’s a little steep,” I say. “I’ll give you ten, though.” Kindergarten minds (most of them) are not real swift with the number-relationships. “How about… two,” says the seller. I draw the numbers in order vertically to try to clarify the process. Mostly it’s just fun to hear them haggle. Even more fun with nonsensical numbers, really. A couple of them don’t bargain with me at all. They accept my lower price without countering. The wheeler-dealers among the group call out in frustration. “Oh, man! She didn’t even do anything!” they moan. I bargain for a guitar, a seashell, a horse and some chocolates. The former two real, the latter two imaginary. I got the horse for a dollar, the chocolates for fifty, the seashell for ten, and the guitar for two. The Kinder-economy.
Note to all Kindergarten teachers and would-be Kindergarten folk: Telling your class that they have to be a “secret Kindergarten class” as they walk in line behind you actually works!! Keep turning around dramatically to see if they’re still there. Exclaiming “I don’t even know there’s anyone behind me!” is also helpful. As is “I can definitely tell that ____ is behind me, but everyone else is being so secret!” I’ve tried “We have to be as quiet as spies” before, and that works pretty well, but my dramatic gang can get overzealous with the tiptoeing and dodging about. I wish I’d known about “secret Kindergarten class” in September. Although maybe it wouldn’t work for a whole year. Few things do. . . .
My favorite words of today: “Holy Spirit, please help the lady who got the hole in her head. For she can live, and her family can live…” This from J. the reluctant saint. Who, I would also add for background, is the most “I am not a morning person” kindergartener I have ever seen. Grumpy like an old man, I tell ya. Reticent, silent. Not awake. Cracks me up. We’ve been learning about the day of Pentecost, about the Holy Spirit. I’ve told them about the Trinity. But I hadn’t told them, really, that they could pray to the Spirit. So it blessed my heart that J. did.
His prayer was for the subject of a rather gruesome neighborhood story related by J.-girl about an elderly woman who fell and is now in the hospital.
“We need to have a talk,” says I, I says. It is a moment of rather intense frustration. “It is your job to make sure that your brain is getting exercise when you are at school. Can I open your head and pour things into your brain?” “No,” comes the fascinated response. “Even when it is someone else’s turn to talk or to read,” I go on with this somber lecture, “you can be getting smarter. If you are playing and talking instead of trying to read along and exercising your brain, then you are missing a chance for your brain to grow, and to get stronger. You can be getting ready for first grade. But it is your job to do it! I can’t make you learn what I am teaching you. I am trying my very best, but it is your job to catch it. Don’t let it walk by you.”
How many times do you have to say this to five and six year olds for it to have any effect whatsoever? A million? A trillion? Lately the title of a book I own, I Won’t Learn From You, keeps coming to mind. It’s been my goal to make learning feel like a breeze. Feel like fun. Feel like games. Delight. And yet sometimes I wonder if my doing this has made them totally clueless that they have a responsibility and an accountability in this process.
For our social studies unit on markets around the world, we practiced bargaining today. Hilarious. “Hmm. 20’s a little steep,” I say. “I’ll give you ten, though.” Kindergarten minds (most of them) are not real swift with the number-relationships. “How about… two,” says the seller. I draw the numbers in order vertically to try to clarify the process. Mostly it’s just fun to hear them haggle. Even more fun with nonsensical numbers, really. A couple of them don’t bargain with me at all. They accept my lower price without countering. The wheeler-dealers among the group call out in frustration. “Oh, man! She didn’t even do anything!” they moan. I bargain for a guitar, a seashell, a horse and some chocolates. The former two real, the latter two imaginary. I got the horse for a dollar, the chocolates for fifty, the seashell for ten, and the guitar for two. The Kinder-economy.
Note to all Kindergarten teachers and would-be Kindergarten folk: Telling your class that they have to be a “secret Kindergarten class” as they walk in line behind you actually works!! Keep turning around dramatically to see if they’re still there. Exclaiming “I don’t even know there’s anyone behind me!” is also helpful. As is “I can definitely tell that ____ is behind me, but everyone else is being so secret!” I’ve tried “We have to be as quiet as spies” before, and that works pretty well, but my dramatic gang can get overzealous with the tiptoeing and dodging about. I wish I’d known about “secret Kindergarten class” in September. Although maybe it wouldn’t work for a whole year. Few things do. . . .
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