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If you are five years old, it is quite easy to become disabopped on a moment to moment schedule. This emotion may occur as you get out of the car at 7:20 in the morning. Just the fact that you are out so early in the real world can cause disabopping behavior.  Not to mention the fact that your mom forgot to wave good-bye. I worry. How many times did I cause my own children to enter the school building in an obviously disabopped state of mind?

I can’t worry about it now. When they grow up, children can so easily make their own disabopps. I make mine all the time. Listed are some of my most monumental and current disabopps:

1. I drop crumbs in my car continuously. I said that I would never, ever eat breakfast on the way to work in my new car. That lasted two days. The next day I dropped an entire container of cereal in the passenger seat. I have had the car eight months and I am still finding cereal. I cannot invite people to ride with me. The crunchy sound when they sit down is so irritating. Disabopped.

2. I want to go see Adele in concert so much that it is ridiculous. I am a little too old to be obsessed. I listen to “Hello” at top volume on the way home from school everyday. How crazy can I be? I have just spent the entire day listening to five year olds talking so loudly that I probably have ear damage. Nevertheless, I am very disabopped about Adele. Just because the available tickets are over $400 (top rows, huge concert venue) or $1000 plus, plus, plus for floor level seating, people laugh at me. My husband does not want to go. Our daughter does not want to go. Friends do not want to go. Hey…it is Adele!!! Doesn’t anyone get it?

3. Texas is too hot in the summer and I am mainly talking about the month of August. Why did my ancestors move to Texas in the first place? Honestly, I would have voted to stay in Tennessee. Let’s go on further back…I would have just stayed in England. I like rainy and sort of cool weather. I can’t really be disabopped in relatives that I do not know, but I think that they could have considered the weather.

My kindergartners are not particularly disabopped about the weather except when we have a tornado drill. Or a real drill. They are just scared and the teacher is putting on her brave face. No…weather or Adele or cereal in the front seat do not disabopp them. The following items do bother them…

1. Raisins for snacks again. Applesauce for snacks again. They only like little fishies and those very small oranges. Nothing else! So disabopping.

2. Not going to the playground because of testing. Don’t even get me started on testing five year olds. This is a major disabopp for everyone.

3. Being moved to another table because of continuous talking and silly behavior and cartoon character sounds being made. This moving tables business is what started the disabopp discussion…

Says the child with the dimples that will melt a thousand hearts:

“You teachers DISABOPP me. Stop it!!”

Oh my…it is hard to say DISAPPOINT with one tooth missing!

 If by chance, I receive a beautiful arrangement of flowers, I am totally and completely overjoyed. A sweet child in my class gave me a plant on Valentine’s Day…a small rose bush. I have spent more time with that plant than with some members of my family. I water it more often than is necessary. I just want to make that little rose bush happy. I am not even certain that it should be called a bush. That is not really the point. The point is that someone gave me a real flower. Me! I am honored. I am impressed by such thoughtfulness.

What does not impress me is someone I slightly know(who certainly shall remain nameless because I don’t even recall her name)who has a wonderful array of flower beds in her rather large front yard. I had always admired these flowers. I don’t really know her, so I have never walked up her sidewalk past the flowers. Lucky me! Had I walked up the sidewalk, I would have discovered the truth for myself.

The truth…THE FLOWERS ARE ARTIFICIAL! They are plastic, not silk or anything approaching silk. I found out about the fake flowers at a Little League game more than 20 years ago. Little League is a hotbed of gossip and controversy. You can actually find out so much news…if you can hear over the parents who are yelling at their children. “WATCH THE BALL!”…but, I was able to hear about the flowers loud and clear. She was so proud of her innovative achievement. Not one person seemed shocked but me. Did they all have ARTIFICIAL flowers to add beauty to their neighborhoods? I have never trusted yards again. I see a wonderfully landscaped flower garden in front of a house that somewhat depicts a gigantic castle. I can’t even see the castle for the possibly artificial flowers.

I can’t help but think…what else is artificial in my city? The bricks on the houses…probably hollow. All of those limestone accents…definitely spray-on stone. The shutters…plastic like the flowers. The grass…most likely turf from a football field. I guess it is really none of my business, but what happened to flowers that are actually growing? Real limestone? Even real fingernails, for heaven’s sake?

So I just keep planting my real petunias and watering them like I water my little rose bush. After all, I like happy plants. Artificial flowers most assuredly do not have real feelings.

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/artificial/

UPDATE!!! Closer than believable…Monday is 13 Days Until First Time, Last Day. I have continued my countdown until school is out for good. I started with 34 Days Until First Time, Last Day. At least, it will be out for good for one person. Me. It is difficult to fathom such a major event, yet a somewhat happy/sad event. I am so very near to the point of retiring. It surprised me when I checked the calendar. I actually counted the days three times. This surely was not correct. I had only 34 days to bring about some miracles in my classroom. Now 13 days? No way!

I can’t retire until Table #1 stops talking continuously. Doubt it will happen. I think that I should be the one with the most words to say. I certainly can’t retire until Table #2 has each and every child finish a project at the right time. Probably won’t happen. I can’t retire until Table #3 doesn’t straighten up by piling papers and crayon containers in a giant pile. Certainly won’t happen. I can’t retire until Table #4 learns to come to circle the first time that they are asked to join us. Absolutely won’t happen.

OK…I know. Nothing is perfect. At least, they are somewhat working together. In the real world, everyone working together in a rather congenial manner may not ever happen again. I still need some miracles. I can’t get past my hopes for these children from back in August. Did I do everything I could for them? Did I make them feel welcome? Did I listen to their stories? Did I realize when someone had slept only three hours the night before? Why only three hours? Did I give everyone a chance to answer enough questions? Did I make learning fun? Did I make learning serious enough? Did I help a parent learn to be a parent? So many questions.

And yet…I know that I gave it my best. I gave them answers to their questions. If I didn’t know the answer, I found the answer. “Why do boy and girl lions look so different?” Well…let me see. “Why do clouds make shapes like Superman?” Well…let me think a little about it. “Why do you like to read books to five year old kids?” Well…do you have an hour to hear my answer? “Where do all the teachers sleep at night? In the cafeteria or the gym?” Can you repeat the question?  “How old are you?” Well…”How old do you think that I am?” “We all think you are about 25″…good counting, I say to myself. I better keep coloring my hair. Maybe I need bright highlights.

When I get the highlights, I will remember my last class. They laughed so loudly. They laughed so freely. They learned all of the letters. They learned all of the sounds. They can read some words. Some can read a lot of words. Some can read chapter books. They learned to count. They learned to count by fives. They learned to count by tens. They learned to mix colors. They learned how to make a mess mixing colors. They learned how to clean up the mess.

They learned all about school. I hope that they always like school and I know that some might not always like school. They learned about friendship. I hope they remember why they need friends. They learned how to get milk in the cafeteria and how to hold a tray. They learned some rules.

Rules like ***walk, don’t run…especially in the hall***try to use an inside voice most of the time***cry if you have to, smile when you can***work first, then play…my favorite rules.

There are also some rules for me. Enjoy these last 34 days. Take pictures. Lots of pictures. Teach them every funny song that I know. Remind them to try their very best at everything they do. After all, that is our class motto. They don’t realize that our motto for the class of 2015-16 is the exact same motto that every one of my classes has had. Eighteen years of classes. And this is my last class. What a special last class. Memories.

My last time with my class is only 13 days away. I still feel the same way as I did when I first wrote this. I will not ever forget these children or any of the other children that I have taught. Not just memories, but cherished memories.

A long time ago in another time…sort of like an entirely different life…I was a newspaper person. I started working on my high school paper and I knew that this was IT. This was one career that I would like. Even as a teenager, I knew that my whatever job would have to be far from boring and far from tedious. I knew that I liked to talk…even though I had been told that I was shy since I was very young. Just lately, I have realized that I probably talked TOO much and people just hoped that I would suddenly be shy. I suppose it was more polite to say “you are shy” rather than “have you ever thought about shutting up”…evidently, I just liked my own voice.

Now, I think of voice in a entirely different manner. I think of voice as a means of expressing  and revealing my personality and style. Voice is taking ownership of my writing…of taking personal responsibility for my viewpoints. When I graduated from college and began working at newspapers…I had not a clue about writing with voice. I had never even heard such an interpretation. I just knew that I better finish my story by the deadline or one of the editors would yell louder than humanly possible. That is when I lost any tiny bit of shyness that I possessed. I could certainly be as loud and opinionated as some guy. I just had to figure out how to be somewhat kind at the same  time. Writing with voice…please! I just needed the facts and the figures and a couple of fancy words. That kind of writing wasn’t so exciting. I just couldn’t be me.

Me was an important commodity even then. So I transferred to the retail advertising department…where I thought the wilder, independent people worked. They did work there, but a few were almost close to normal. It was my kind of place. I still had deadlines, but people were laid back. “Ok, Ok! She’ll be down with the copy in 10 minutes or maybe thirty!”…so what if I worked until 11:00 at night many times. The ads looked good, didn’t they? I had over 100 accounts  and I treated them like they were the most ingenious businesses in town. I was 22 years old…what did I know about business? Nothing.

Fortunately, I knew how to shop and what to buy. I found out quickly that I was competitive beyond belief. Competitive and opinionated. What a combination. So I put together an ad campaign for a  popular young adult type store. They bought full pages. Yea! More money! This was fun. My ads were entered in a state contest for a  newspaper association. What do you know…I won first place for ad campaigns….the biggest deal ever for me. That’s how my picture made the newspaper.

A picture in the paper, a plaque, a presentation at a dinner. I still have the paper and  the plaque.  Funny how a little recognition can give a person confidence. Now that I am a teacher, I know that recognizing teachers for even the smallest conquest is vitally important. It just doesn’t happen very much in public education. What a shame.

When I think of my seven year newspaper career, I remember how great I felt when I won that contest. I quit the newspaper business when our children were born.  Those late hours are not particularly compatible with a good home environment. And besides, I wanted to be a mom. However, I carried from the newspaper a sense of accomplishment and confidence. Newspapers gave me the voice that I needed.

Newspaper

 Written by Pat Davis, kindergartenknowledge.com

There was a time when faraway meant growing older. I’ve been there. I am there. It is not so disconcerting.

There was a time when faraway meant finishing long years of study. Degrees. I’ve been there. I am past there. It is not so disconcerting.

There was a time when faraway meant marriage for many years. I’ve been there. I am truly there. It is not so disconcerting.

There was a time when faraway meant having a career that meant more than just going to work. School. Students. I’ve been there. I am there. I am almost past there. It is not so disconcerting.

There was a time when faraway meant having children. Love. Joy. Family. A Boy. A Girl. I’ve been there. I am there. It is so very, very disconcerting.

Our girl is not so faraway. She is wonderful and happy and resourceful and successful. She is everything that we ever dreamed that she would be. A daughter! Happiness! A beautiful ray of sunshine in our lives.

Our boy is so very, very faraway. Yes, that is why being there is so very, very disconcerting. Being there means that we are without our boy. He was our first child. The child with a smile so bright. The child who was clever and curious and fun. The child who was so happy to be a brother. Our son.

Faraway means that we lost him when he was only twenty-six. A car accident. Not his fault. A rainy night. Someone lost control and caused an accident. Our son was gone in an instant. It is true that when you lose a child…you lose part of your future. And yet, you see the future with so much clarity. Amazing clarity.

Clarity to actually feel the meaning of love. To yearn for something that you cannot touch. Clarity to reach out to the unknown. Clarity to believe in something that you cannot see. Clarity to trust that tomorrow will be better. And easier. Surprising that tomorrow does come and joy still surrounds us.

Our lives move forward. We learn to laugh again. Sometimes I think that our boy is close by. I feel that he is near. I feel that he is listening, watching, smiling, holding our hands.

Faraway. There was a time when I thought faraway was measured in miles. I’ve been there. I’ve been miles away. Yet…faraway is near. So very near. As near as reaching out for something that I cannot touch…reaching out for something that I can imagine…for something that I can remember. Faraway. Yet so near.

I have noticed…with some monumental amounts of distress mixed with humor…that in education …what was old becomes new again and then old and then really super brand new. When this “thing” becomes super brand new, it is bright and shiny and expensive. Thank you, thank you to all the taxpayers including myself! We are so often paying big time for old ideas re-packaged in glittered ribbon.

My awareness of this phenomenon occurred when I changed school districts a little more than several years ago. I was very enthralled with being in a different district…even larger than my last large district. Sure, I was very sad to leave my old school and my comfortable surroundings and friends. However, I had a new position and I might just use that recently framed master’s degree that caused me to lose so much sleep. I entered my new school building  and walked into my first all-day staff development of the year.

It is sort of fun to learn new information and meet new people even at a very long staff development. If they have good snacks, it is even more fun. I met lots of new people that day and still count many as friends. The new information was old information. Really old information. Truly. We spent the day talking about and completing and talking about again the THINKING MAP. Actually, I like to use thinking maps to present ideas. Children in every grade can derive a positive benefit from a thinking map. The problem was that I had been using these maps for at least ten years and so had all the people at my table. They acted very nice about this old information that became brand new. I did the right thing and acted nice too.

Goodness, it is difficult to act nice when you find out that four staff members from one school had spent several fun-filled days in another city…learning about THINKING MAPS! It is not inexpensive to send four people to a wonderful city to learn about something that they surely already knew. I never found out how many schools sent people to the conference. I just didn’t want to know. I felt like I was in a time warp. This is why I went to graduate school? Oh dear! Something was just wrong about the picture. I still use thinking maps. In fact, I would use one right now if I didn’t have lesson plans to complete.

These maps came to my mind today because of the home center in my classroom. I love home centers. They promote organization, friendly talk, cooperation, and fun. What could be wrong with that? For several years, I had been told that home centers were out. Way out. Do not have a home center! Throw away that wooden refrigerator and matching stove! And then…like magic…one recent year, I received at least five large boxes filled with home center furniture! What a thrill! Sort of like American Idol deciding to come back for one more “the very last season”! I have gone all out for that home center. Real menus from real restaurants! A special location by a big window! And now…four chef hats and four aprons! The dollar store came through again! What is old is new again! I don’t know how much those five boxes of home center furniture cost. I am just not asking.

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I am thanking my lucky stars that we finally are making it close to April! On about September 8, I started thinking that I might not last through the rest of the week. This might be quite ridiculous, since I have been working on this teaching career for 18 years… all in Title I public schools. Some of these children have little direction at home and are just downright hungry. I am not talking about a hunger for learning. Some of these children DO  have discipline and direction at home, but the poverty is serious. My heart cries for them. The first few weeks of school were a bit tougher this year and I was a bit tougher this year. How can I really teach them if they have no idea how to control themselves? To me, tough means following through on classroom rules. It means being fair. It means caring for them even in the midst of disastrous behavior.

Disastrous behavior in Kindergarten might mean cutting a little classmate’s beautiful curl at the end of her pony tail. You might ask…”Where was the teacher during this haircut episode?”. She was right there at the front of the line of children…getting everyone quiet for the “going to the cafeteria without the talking and skipping escapade”. The teacher was so proud that the class was quiet and standing in a slightly and somewhat straight line. She perhaps was bragging too much about her ideal class. She only heard a giggle or three. Every pair of hands were behind their backs. Evidently, every pair of hands except one. That was the pair of hands with the red scissors. The red scissors belonged to the child who was the best cutter in the whole class that very morning. The scissors (in a strange leap) must have jumped into his pocket. As we turned the corner into the main hallway, the scream started and then the crying ensued. The pony tail girl was particularly sensitive to scissors on her hair. The crying was followed by the loud “I didn’t do it”…repeated at least 12 times. We were so late to lunch that the friendly cafeteria ladies must have put my name on the imagined problematic teacher list. I picked up the curl from the floor and placed it in  a baggie for the evidence. We never lined up in a long single line again. Not even now that it is almost April.

Yes, I have one line of boys on the left and one line of girls on the right. I really don’t even want them to look at each other. They will tell me if anyone even acts like they are touching the child in front of them. Being late to lunch was such a sad circumstance…not to mention the screaming and crying. I may have been somewhat dramatic about the curl in the baggie. That was nothing compared to the dramatic behavior of the pony tail girl’s mother when she saw the baggie. I understood. I would have thrown a gigantic fit if that had happened to my own daughter when she was five years old. Nevertheless, no scissors have touched another child thus far during the school year. I was told that the red scissors were “bad” by the hair-cutting small person. They were exchanged for blue scissors that had a better reputation.

My eyes are opened wider now when the scissors are out. My eyes are opened wider all the time. Even a teacher with experience can have a new experience! The 18th year of teaching was the year that the scissors made a poor decision. I still have the curl in the baggie. It is in a basket on my desk. Just a reminder about Kindergarten possibilities. Just a reminder to keep caring for the children despite their mistakes!