Apples to Apples

Yesterday, a friend pointed out to B that her training bra could be seen through her white shirt. Being that B is nine years old, you can imagine the huge uproar this caused to her day. She immediately came to me (which means I must be doing something right, since she trusts me with this stuff) to see what she should do.  I told her that there were a lot of sweaters in the Lost & Found and that she could borrow one of those for the day. I knew there was no sense in trying to convince her that it didn’t matter that her mid drift under shift known as a training bra was showing.

She picked out a brand new sweatshirt that looked like it must have belonged to one of the junior highers at our school. I didn’t want her to wear it on the playground.

She was upset and asked if she could borrow my sweater. I agreed and paid no more attention to it. When I left in the afternoon, I grabbed my sweater from my desk where B had left it. I carried it with me to the car, into the house, back to the car, and into the building at my second job (where I score standardized tests). I didn’t put it on until I left job #2 that night. I knew it was going to be chilly outside.

When I put on the sweater, the sleeves only came to my elbows. A rush of love for B and children in general swept over me and I realized that she is still so small and young that she had to roll the sleeves up that far. These are the types of moments that make me keep teaching.

Last week the fire alarm went off. My class was in music and from what I am told snapped to it with getting in a nice, silent straight line. I however, was left alone in the classroom to perform the various tasks I’d previously delegated to students in the event of a fire. I had to find the correct folder with their parent’s emergency info, the big red & green stick we hold up so the principal knows we are all there (or not), turn off the light, shut both doors, and get the heck out of there. Once I was outside, I joined my class - who was the best behaved in the school - and counted their precious little heads adding in who was absent and snapping up my green sign that we were all there. We stood for a few minutes and waited for the principal to come tell us to go back in. Instead, he came out and shouted to the school, a group of children who find the most dramatic way possible to react to any situation, “THIS IS NOT A DRILL!” I didn’t think anything serious, but had to turn around when my lovely 9 and 10 years olds were whispering my name. The pathetic desparate looks on their faces confused me until one of them, near tears it seeemed, said “Mr. Cuddles is in there”. My heart melted as I realized that amidst the chaos of remembering all of their jobs during a fire drill, I had forgotten mine. I’d left the beloved hamster to melt in the flames of fourth grade.

*there was never any fire, but the kids got to see the real firemen come check out the school. mr. cuddles was perfectly fine when we made it back to the room