My Eyes Adore Them...

I would be lying if I said I didn't want to be highly intoxicated, pass out, and wake up on Saturday morning right now.

Today was my second day of teaching Kindergarten this year. Last night, I got home at 7:45. It's a miracle I got out of that school before 5 today. And truly, the only reason I got out of there as soon as I did was to come home and drink a glass of wine at the appropriate time of 5pm. It took me 4 minutes to finish off the glass. I kid you not.

So much for being a wine connoisseur. Or graceful.

I don't have much brain power to write anything clever or witty or charming. So I'll just share these few thoughts.

This year might be my most challenging. And by the true overseeing of God, it has started off very well. I have laughed and marveled and hugged and sighed and made good progress in just two days. Considering. Considering that I am teaching my normal class of 5-year-olds...with their novice eyes and impulsive hands and quick mouths...along with a few students with special needs. Two autistic boys and one girl with a chromosome disorder, to be exact.

Over the last two days I have wanted to pull my hair out. And cry. And then scoop those three up and just hug them enough to fix them. But I can't. It is amazing how one questions "normalcy" when you are inundated with "abnormal." I think about children in my family, children that I see out, my friends' kids, my friends' nieces and nephews. I'm reminded how blessed we are to be of "normal" development. I start to think about my future children. And I pray they are "normal," all the while wondering what that is. I pray that if they are not, there is someone in the school who knows how to reach them. Who doesn't want to cry, doesn't want to give up, and doesn't want to pull their hair out when my child walks through the door. What if that happens? Will I be able to give my child what he or she needs? I'm a certified professional in this exact field and I just don't know the answer.

But I tell you what. These kids make the world go round and I constantly learn that I'm not in charge here. I can't hand-pick my class. I can't hand-pick my children when I have them. But I can do my very best every day. And I can love them.

Even when Marcelo (he's "normal") hops around one too many times and I grab him by the shirt, get in his face and gripe at him to stop and his response is, "I love you, Miss Rose." Today, I said, "I love you too, Marcelo." I think I meant it.