Beauty in the day: so they were lined up by the door of the school waiting for dismissal. I like to go out into the foyer and say goodbye to the kids – this is when they sometimes tell me random stuff.
One little kindie girl held up a pice of paper folded like a card and colored bright colors. “Look at what my friend made for me!” She was exuberant. Friend was next to her, and hopped up and down silently, a grin spread all over her face.
The kindie girl continued her exaltation, showing me how her friend had drawn her a lovely picture, “and look!” She got even more excited, which made Friend hop up and down ever so much more jubilantly. “She colored the two sides my favorite colors!” And then, with a highly exaggerated wave of her hand, showed first the purple side, then the pink.
Now Friend stopped hopping, and leaned in toward her beneficiary, who smiled at her lovingly.
The ringing bell signaled the need for the bus, and off they went.
At least two little girls had a very good day today. Probably more. Things like that can be infectious.
Beauty in the day: he came to the clinic with cracked, bleeding lips.
“I have just the thing!” I told him. Afterwards he asked to call his mom.
“Hi mom. My lip was bleeding, but Ms. Nordstrom put gasoline on it, and it’s better now.”
Beauty in the day: it’s my month for Sunday School, and I do the K/1 group. ALL boys. A first grader told me that he heard that Jesus would return someday in the FLESH, and he told me, “Yeah! I can’t wait! I’m gonna get a PICTURE with him!”
Beauty in the day: it was time to take the daily walk to pick up Jaffrey from school, so Bree told Everett to get ready. He showed up with her crocheted beanie cap filled with about 16 hot wheels. She noted this and mentally rolled her eyes, but figured if he could carry them in the cap, it wasn’t worth the argument to tell him to leave them behind.
When they reached the school, the children we being dismissed, and heading out to meet their parents. Bree suddenly became aware that Everett was passing out his hot wheels to kids, saying, “Merry Christmas!” Bree asked him if he knew that he wasn’t getting those back, and Everett said, “I know, but they’re for the kids!”
Beauty in the day: it was actually last Friday and I forgot to share. We have Eagle Tickets that kids earn for being great kids in a way that was noticeable (since they are already all great kids).
Two young men came into the office with their tickets. One was telling me that he was SURE to get a prize, because he had 14 tickets in the drawing. His friend slowly shook his head with a calm smile. “You don’t get it, dude. The prize is the happiness you get in earning the ticket.”
Beauty in the day: he wanted an ice pack. “I need an ice pack for my arm,” he said, massaging his shoulder at the joint.
“What happened? Why is it hurting?”
“It hurts because I was raising my arm for so long.”
“Oh – I don’t think an ice pack will really work for that, but….wow! You must be a really good student! Were you raising your hand and waiting to answer a question?”
He said no, but explained further. “I was raising my arm to signal zero noise level.”
I faked a double-take. “Seriously? Wow! You really ARE a good student!” I stood up and motioned to shake his hand, which he allowed, in a proud-yet-bewildered manner. I dismissed him then, calling after him, “Keep up the good work!”
Unlike some of the kids who leave with no memory of why they had arrived in the first place, this one left happy, but kept looking back at me on his way down the hall.
He may be onto me.
Beauty in the day: he came and stood at the tall end of the desk, his eyes peeking at me. I asked him why he was there.
“Well, I was in line, and [one classmate] got in line in front of me….” he trailed off for just a moment, and looked distant – then resumed. “And [other classmate] got in line behind me.”
I waited for the terrible tragedy that must have befallen him at this point.
He blinked. Three times, I think.
That was it. The tragedy.
At least, that was all I was getting.
Beauty in the day: he came to school with his two fingers taped together. He said that he had a broken finger and that it happened two days ago – no, two weeks ago. Mid-class, he decided he wanted to change the tape, so he came to the Clinic. I bound it with some of that paper first-aid tape. Not too tight.
“I’m so lucky I have a pencil,” he informed me. “At recess I can let people sign my finger.”
The he added, “The good one. I don’t want them to sign the bad one.”
Beauty in the day: he came to the office from recess with a “broken arm”. He didn’t tell my assistant why he was there – just that he was waiting for me.
When I came, he informed me (with worried eyes) that he had broken his arm at recess. Desiring to reassure him, I looked boldly at his tattooed forearm, and pronounced that he had no need to worry; the arm wasn’t broken.
This was met with crocodile tears and a low whine – I had clearly said the wrong thing. I encouraged him to come into the clinic so we could examine him, which he did. The clinic aide was on-hand, and when she heard the news that his arm had been broken, she gave him a much-needed “awwwwwwww!”
This did much to bring healing to this younger brother of Aussie Boy.
Beauty in the day: driving to work with a lot on my mind – and I turned the corner, and saw the sky – the kind that is my favorite, sort of stormy with the sun shining in, and making everything look super-vibrant – – and I knew.