Category Archives: Kindergarten

Things That Make Days Good

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.

#kindnessacceptanceinclusion

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Smart Start

Beauty in the day: there was a LOT of it. Beauty here, beauty there, beauty everywhere. Beautiful children, beautiful parents, beautiful staff. I looked on delightedly as students so loudly repeated what Mrs. Anderson recited for them in ONE VOICE. I looked on with enchantment as the students silently and interestedly watched a video about how their brain works when it’s learning. I listened with GREAT INTEREST when a soon-to-be-Kindergartener told me her important truth: “My 3-year-old sister is going to turn 5 after she turns 4, just like me.”

We build knowledge upon knowledge at Ardmore. 

Zip it Good

Beauty in the day: he talks to us. We often don’t understand what he’s saying, but he’s also pretty animated, so us educated folk are generally able to decipher his antics. Today he had a few words for the Librarian. He seemed interested in her vest, and she leaned down to let him in’vest’igate. He motioned to her zipper, which he then grasped, and pulled up to her chin. She thanked him with a smile, and he left, exhibiting pride in a job well-done.

Sometimes love is letting someone zip you up.

The Formula

Beauty in the day: they came in together, each with their own ailment – one whose arm was hurting (for no apparent reason), the other who said she hurt her side a few days prior, and it was hurting.
“Oh! I never like it when that happens either! Have you tried the rubbing thing?”
They had not, but looked somewhat intrigued. I had to pull out a more engaging explanation than usual, because I know these littles.
“Oh, yes – let’s do try. You just take this hand, and then you gently rub, and sometimes pat, just like your mommy would do – does your mommy do that?”
Their mommies did not do that.
“Oh, well, how lucky! I’ll bet you never thought that you would get to go home and teach something to your mama, did you?”
Once again, intrigued.
“I think I can bend my arm better now!”
“My side feels better!”
“Wow! you two are just like little magical fairies!”
They left in agreement of that statement.

Little Big Man

Beauty in the day: he is little. Teeny-tiny. He’s one of those teeny-tiny packages that pack a wallop. He came in before school with a nasty scrape on his forearm, the wound bright red. He was HOWLING. My poor assistant was trying to dab at the spot, which only made him howl more. Those little packages can make a lot of noise. 😉
I jumped in, if only to rescue my assistant and put and end to his misery. I grabbed some gauze, and got him to look at me while I counted loudly out loud, “1, 2, 3, 4,” and made some quick work of wiping away the redness.
“Here, buddy, hold this,” I told him, and grabbed his free hand to hold the fresh gauze over the scrape (at this point, it was medically unnecessary, but emotionally necessary).
His trauma scale was now at a 7 from the original 10, evidenced by the heavy breathing coupled with the FIERY level look he was aiming at me. I began to open a bandaid package. “I do NOT want a BIG bandaid!” he informed me in no uncertain terms.
I set down the big bandaid with great pomp, and grabbed up a medium one. I didn’t wait for his opinion, but started talking my way through it rapidly, having sized up my foe and determined the best course to confuse him. I placed it over his wound, and he took 3 even breaths, and then turned on his heel to head to class, muttering loudly to himself as he went.

At lunch, he returned. “Take it off,” he said regally and with great importance.

“Oh, no. No, we will not take if off, friend, because you have a scrape under there that needs to heal.”

“It is better now,” he dictated. “Take it off!”

“Nope. Sorry, buddy. Not taking it off. That needs to stay on.”

We had a short argument then, him wrangling to remove the bandaid, and me standing my ground. I came up with a compromise. “Okay, we can take it off so you can look at it, but then I will cover it back up with a new one.” He felt this to be preposterous (which it was), and opted to leave it on.
“Make sure you show it to your mom when you get home, and she can decide if you can take it off.”

I’ve never seen a 5-year-old master the technique of the double-take…until now. He screwed his face up tight and looked at me with the scoffing-est of scoffing looks. “I will NOT show it to my mother!” he said over his shoulder, as he exited the office with the swiftness of one who isn’t interested in getting caught up and any more ridiculous conversation.

It’s important that our jobs are not around the clock. I can likely use the down time to restrategize.

Working Girls

Beauty in the day: it was another clinic visit for cutie-patootie, who has had a running tab in “I don’t feel good” days. The nurse thought to distract her with an offer of a few pretzels, which she accepted gratefully. As the nurse set about the (apparently) arduous task of laying out a pretzel snack, Little Miss asked her, “I’m not making you work too hard, am I?”
Now, I heard all of you “Awwww” collectively, but a short while later, I offered to give her mom a call, and as I (apparently) arduously dialed the number, she thanked me and asked sweetly, “I’m not making you work too hard, am I?”
We knew we’d been had.