Friday was a good day at work. Not only was it the Friday before Spring Break, but the children didn't have school because of parent-teacher conferences. We had nine children show up out of fifteen. Nine. It was blissful. The weather was beautiful and we got to have free time outside today, which is quickly becoming my favorite ways to spend time with the kids because they get to let out a ton of energy before we go inside to our tiny little room. Yep, it was smooth sailing.
Our little boy that has been having problems was one of the nine that did show up today, and I was really excited. The smaller number allowed for more one-on-one time. He sat on his name three times today. Three baby miracles, maybe not even baby miracles, I'm okay with calling those full on miracles now. He's coming really far and I'm really proud. I feel like a proud momma. He also didn't try to escape through the outside door today. I always see it as a "win" when the children don't try to run away. Now, something that has really bothered me this whole weekend and that I've had to think about, I've never really thought about it before, but the way different cultures state that they have experienced pain must be different from each other. This must seem like an obvious statement, but it has honestly never crossed my mind. Most children that I have worked with go to school and learn "ow" very quickly. When they don't go to school, they don't have exposure to this phrase. I am so happy that I was standing next to the door when this little boy came back from the bathroom. As I turned and knelt in front of him to tell him where to hang up the bathroom pass, I noticed that there were tears in his eyes and that he was shaking his hand, but he
wasn't making a sound. I asked him what was wrong. Dumb move on my part. He obviously didn't understand so I pointed to his finger and he pointed to the crack in the door. His itty bitty finger had gotten shut in the door. "Ice?" I asked, assuming that, with all of the bags of ice I had gotten his peers for booboos that never occur, he would know what that meant. The kid just stared at me, so I walked him to the kitchen and got him a bag of ice and gently placed it on his finger. All the while wondering what it would feel like to be plopped in a classroom where not only you couldn't understand anyone, but they couldn't understand you either. I questioningly gave him both the thumbs up/down signs and he responded with up, so we went back and continued to have an excellent day. When he left I gave him a high five. Never under estimate the value of a high five, those little guys can move mountains with five-year-olds. I left work hoping and praying that this week off won't undo all the progress that we have made; if it does, we'll make it work, but if it doesn't, that would be great.
Is that what it's like to be a teacher? Is it honestly this emotionally taxing? Every given day I have 16 days, my own day and a day for each one of my babies. Today, I only had 10 days and even though it was good, it was still tiring. It is easy to understand why teachers can become emotionally detached from their work; it would be so much easier to not worry about each one of their little lives and why they do the things they do. It would be SO much easier to not try to understand and to just handle everything that comes your way at face value. I wouldn't come home tired everyday or worried or stressed or concerned. But, is that the type of teacher I want to be? No. I believe that children won't care until they know that I care. It's simple. Would you want to learn from someone that just didn't care about you? Follow their rules? Yeah, I wouldn't either. So, I don't care how many booboos I have to ice and bandaid or how many hugs I have to give or how many stories I listen to, ensuring that my babies know that I care is the most important thing I do each day.