Beauty in the day: so, our 5th graders are working to qualify for “Self Manager” status. Many already have, and I was working on special custom badges attached to lanyards for each of them.
One 5th grade boy was sent to the workroom by his teacher to sharpen a handful of pencils, which he did, quite handily. We chatted about the lanyards while he did his chore and I continued with mine as well. He was preparing to leave, and I suggested he wait, while I finished he last of the lanyards, so he could deliver them to his teacher.
I instantly saw that this presented him with a predicament. One the one hand, the beautiful lanyards (which included his OWN personalized edition, complete with picture) would surely please his teacher and fellow students, and would DEFINITELY please himself. On the other hand, he was sent on a pencil-sharpening mission, and his well-earned status of Self Manager was quite fresh, and he was loathe to taint it in any way.
He said nothing, but smiled nervously at me, and I saw that he was delicately walking a balance beam between respecting his teacher’s instruction, and respecting mine. He seemed to be swaying ever so slightly under the weight of this while he waited for me to finish. I thought I detected tiny beads of perspiration forming on his forehead, and he smiled at me with a pinched smile. His eyes darted back and forth, and then he would make eye contact with me and smile again, shyly.
After what surely seemed like an hour (but what was actually closer to 4 minutes), I was finished, and handed the lanyards to him, which he clutched like a trophy. As he left the workroom I called to remind him not to forget his pencils. I got an especially fun look from him for that.
His teacher reported that he came into the classroom and turned over the lanyards. Then he told her, “I have to be honest – I finished sharpening the pencils quite a bit earlier….”
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.
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: 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: there were two of them, standing in front of my desk this morning before school started. One has been there many, many times, his daily mission to talk to me before line-up. The other is a new student, sweet and quiet; it’s unexpected that she wants to visit – but she does.
He started it out. “Ms. Nordstrom, I would like a fidget spinner. ” This is in reference (as my story will show) to a well-used fidget spinner that is on display in my window. It’s not there to torture the students – much.
“I don’t have fidget spinners here!”
He begged to differ, as he inclined his head with a tilt toward the one on display.
“Oh, that’s MY fidget spinner. But I don’t have any for students here.”
No matter – he was nonplussed. “I would like a USB.”
A USB? He wants a USB? I looked confused. He inclined his head again and tilted it toward my window, where there were 2 USB flash drives. One belonged to a parent who had left it behind the day before, and one was mine.
“That’s MY USB. I don’t have USB’s for students here.”
While he thought of his next request, shy girl pipes in. “I want that Griffin!” She pointed to the Eagle statue in my window.
“Well, that’s actually an Eagle. And it belongs to the school, so I can’t give it to you.”
As equally prepared to continue as the boy, she asked if I had any extra harmonicas. 🙄
There are no harmonicas in my window display.
I sent them to line up. 🤷🏻♀️