Okay, you’ve probably had it up to here with cute stories about my little ones.  (I’m holding my hand up over my head, just in case you’re wondering where ‘up to here’ is.)  I promise I actually have other stuff in the works, but sometimes my kiddos just sweep in and steal my heart and I can’t keep from writing about it.

One boy in particular made me laugh so hard today that I actually had to wipe the tears from my eyes.  This kid always has a twinkle in his eye and he recently told me that he styles his fauxhawk every morning.  All.  By.  Himself.  He’s the kid who writes his own knock-knock jokes and reads them to the class.  It matters little that most of his jokes don’t make any sense.  Relevant punchlines are totally optional in first grade.

Early this morning Twinkle Eyes came in the classroom and whispered in my ear “Tomorrow is the day my mom comes home!”  Okay, what started as a whisper ended up more like an ear-piercing, headache inducing screech, which is absolutely forgivable since his mom is in the military and hasn’t been home in months.  I can overlook a little tinitis.

Later that day, I was reading a book about George Washington to the class.  I was in the middle of explaining why the colonists didn’t want be under England’s rule.

Twinkle Eyes raised his hand.  “England is where the Pilgrims came from, right?”

“Exactly.”  I pulled down the map and showed them England in relation to the colonies and also in relation to California.

“I remember you reading about the Pilgrims coming across the ocean on The Cauliflower.”  He sat up tall, so proud to remember such a good detail from November.

And I tell you, I couldn’t help it, I cracked up.  Not just a snicker behind my hand or a dainty little giggle.  I was laughing so hard I had to put the book down and wipe my eyes on the back of my hand.  They sailed on The Cauliflower!  The Cauliflower!  Even now as I type it, I’m fighting back the chuckles.  Gimme a sec to get a grip.  Talk amongst yourselves.

Ahem.  Okay, that’s better.

As I was having a complete fit, my class sat on the rug giggling at their teacher who had surely lost it for good this time.  Twinkle Eyes was equal parts happy to have made us all laugh and perplexed at what exactly was so funny.

I clicked on our interactive whiteboard and pulled up a photo of cauliflower and explained that it’s a vegetable.  Then I pulled up a drawing of The Mayflower.  I flicked back and forth between the two pictures explaining to Twinkle Eyes and the rest of my little ones how it would have been really funny to see a bunch of Pilgrims sailing across the Atlantic on cauliflower.  By this point, they were beside themselves, giggling and snorting and holding their sides.  And I was right there with them.  Twinkle Eyes was laughing the hardest of all.

Somehow we managed to collect ourselves and have a productive day.  Toward the end of the day, Twinkle Eyes was working on a card for his mom.  I looked over his shoulder to see how it was progressing.  The card was a folded piece of sky blue construction paper and on the inside he’d markered a dark blue ocean.  His mom was sailing in a boat toward him.  And he was sailing a second boat toward her.  I bet you can guess what their boats were made of.  Yep.  Cauliflower.  Cauliflower with little broccoli oars.

My little guy may have to explain why the boats are made of cauliflower, but I’m certain in my bones that his mom will understand the meaning of the card.  I can just picture Twinkle Eyes sitting in her lap reading it.  I picture her laughing at his jokes.  I picture her helping him style his hair in the mornings.  I picture him whispering special things in her ear.

In a couple of days his mom will pack her things up again and fly back across the ocean.  In her suitcase I imagine she’ll carry that drawing of cauliflower ships.  And in her mind she will hold the memory of her son’s twinkling eyes.

Teaching is hard for me this year.

I have a wonderful bunch of kids, but the reality of increased class sizes paired with decreased aide support leaves me feeling like I’m stretched impossibly thin.  I’m not giving my students all they need, all they deserve.  Many days I go home feeling defeated, feeling like I hardly even got to talk to some of my kids, let alone teach them.

At night I lay awake thinking of all the holes I need to fill in their understanding of words and numbers.  But the holes are numerous and I am only one.

I’m giving my all this year and it’s not enough.

That is the searing truth that rumbles in the pit of my stomach and snaps my eyelids up like window shades at 2:13 in the morning.

Today was one of those days.   I woke in the small hours of the morning, trying to solve this puzzle, to put the pieces together in a new way that creates a better picture.  The solution eluded me, slipped away as the moon and sun changed guard.

I went to work exhausted.  I had a good day with my kids, they all put forth their best effort and so did I.  We are loving the nearness of Christmas and simultaneously feeling the pangs of being away from each other for two and a half weeks.

After school, I sat in my room overwhelmed by all the little tasks that had to be accomplished before I could even think about big things like lesson plans for January.

And then a familiar face poked his head in my door.

I knew this face when he was a first grader in my class a few years ago.  This face, this little boy, will have my heart forever.  This was the face of the boy who belted out his solo in our class musical and brought the house down.  He peeked in and I hugged him tight, noticing how he comes up to my armpits, remembering how he used to barely come up to my waist.  Time is such a quick bird, flying away with little children and returning them to me as adolescents.

I asked him if he’d come by to help.  Many are the children who pop in after school wanting to help, wanting a little extra time to talk.  He said he’d be happy to help and I sent him with a note to his after school care teacher.  He returned a minute later with the okay from his teacher and with another boy in tow.  This boy has the most expressive eyes.  The second boy asked if he could help, too.  Suddenly all those little tasks that were stacked up against me didn’t seem so daunting.  The second boy returned with the okay from his after school care teacher and when he returned, he brought with him a third boy.  The third boy was another former student, a boy with a sensitive spirit and impish dimples.  These three boys set about sharpening pencils, filing, cleaning my boards, washing dishes, and while they worked, they talked.

They talked about all the things we did when they were in first grade.  About the Mr. Bear Crime Scene Investigation unit.  About the leprechaun who left tiny green footprints all over our desks and turned our milk green.  About the pleasure of choosing a book out of the Santa sack.  About our 100th day Olympics.  About the piles and piles of books we’d written.

“We really had some great times together, didn’t we?”  I smiled at them.  “I’d forgotten about a lot of those things.”

And then the boy who will always have my heart said “Maybe we should write you a list of all the fun things we did so you’ll remember them and remember to do them with your class.”

“I’d like that.  I’d like that a lot.”  And that’s the truth.  Because somewhere this year I’ve let myself only see my failures.  I’d lost sight of some of the magic, some of the sparkle of teaching young children.

Half an hour later, all the little jobs were finished.  As were my lesson plans for the next month.  I hugged these three angel boys and told them that their help had been the best Christmas gift.  Then the boy who’d belted out a solo so many years ago told me he’d see me tomorrow at the school sing-a-long because he was in the choir.

“I always knew you were a singer.”  I grinned.

“I remember you telling me that.”  he replied.  And in that moment, we were both so full, so content with memories of our year together.

Before they left, one boy asked if he could have one of the pencils they’d sharpened.  And so I paid them each with a brand new pencil, such a small price to pay for the important lessons they taught me today.