Remember Magical?

I saw Magical today!

I can't even tell you how much I've missed that kid. He's the same- two years older- two years wiser. I can't stop thinking about him. I even missed his robot.

There are some kids who truly change your life forever and he is without a doubt one of them.

We've Got Rock Star!

This week I feel like just bouncing around singing the song from the Annie music- "We've Got Annie". Remember how happy and overjoyed they were that they had Annie back?

That's how I feel.

Last year when I was trying to decide whether or not to leave the Think Tank and venture off into a brand new school I kept going back to Rock Star. How could I leave her? It had been a wonderful year and she'd made so much progress. I felt like I was abandoning her. I knew I couldn't stay for her so sadly I said goodbye to her. As I watched her car drive out of the parking lot on that last day I cried harder than I've ever cried on a last day.

And now...

She's back!  She's joined me in my class. She's the perfect fit, and she's been smiling and laughing with everyone else. It's like my world is complete again- seeing her smiling face and watching her raise her hand to answer a question I ask, or seeing her dance while we sing.

Love that girl!

Now if we can only get Brown Bear, Magical, and the other friends...

Breaking up is hard to do

Saying goodbye to a class at the end of the year is similar to a break up. Some years it is a release. You end the year with wonderful memories, knowing that it is time for everyone to move on. Everyone's grown and progressed and it's time for new adventures. You knew it was coming, you were prepared, you said your goodbyes and made amends with the inevitable. You'll still remain friends and you know the break is best for everyone involved.

Then there are the years that leave you with a sense of absolute sorrow and loss. You knew it was coming but you didn't really process what had to happen. It was such a good relationship- so much was right. You just thought it could last forever. Months after the break happens you still find yourself wistfully wondering what they are up to, waking up from a dream about them and then suddenly realizing it was just a dream, nothing more, you won't be going in to see them today. Wondering if they are thinking about you too, and if they would think you were absolutely crazy if you called them. No, don't call- put down the phone- everyone needs to move on.

This year was one of those years. I must think about those little ones everyday. Every time I hear "I've got a feeling" (which is a lot because the CD is stuck in my CD player) I am immediately transferred back to my classroom where I am laughing at their fabulous dancing skills. Rain makes me think of the day we had such a dramatic and scary thunderstorm that we all sat around the window talking about what the rain looked like and then we made rain tear-art pictures so we can use our nervous energy to tear paper into tiny pieces. Books I read to Little Lipstick make me wonder what Magical and Rock Star would say about the story. I plan lessons for them before I realize that I won't be teaching them again. I stumble across an empty container and think "this will be perfect for Brown Bear to store his puzzle pieces in!"

I'm a summer-time mess.

Seeing Magical once a week helps some. Seeing him happy, adjusting to his summer school class, moving on. It's time for me to do the same.

It's a good place to be, saying goodbye to an amazing class. But like all break ups, I am going to need to come to terms with my loss so that I am able to welcome another class with open arms. I need to make sure that the next batch of children isn't just a re-bound class, but an absolutely true class. Hmmmm, maybe I need to go round up some kids on the playground and have a mini-class one morning just so I can have my re-bound class and be ready to move on.

As the weeks go on I can feel my sadness beginning to transfer into nervous energy. I'm terrified of starting the new school, but excited. Give me a few more weeks and I'll be chomping at the bit to get back into the game. Bring me your new students, bring me the challenges, let's get this party started.

Concept of mind

Magical lied to me this week. 

On our weekly reading date he told me that his dad said I couldn't bring my baby to see him anymore (this week Baby L was safety playing with her grandmother and not terrorizing Magical). His mom shook her head over his and said, "he's making that up", obviously embarrassed that her son would tell such a story. Personally, I was thrilled.

Telling stories, or lying isn't something many of the kids in last year's class did. Well, some of them did, but for others the concept was beyond them. The concept that you are able to know something and someone else doesn't know it is a level of thinking that some of my children hadn't developed yet, although their typically developing peers had. For the most part it made getting to the bottom of classroom squabbles easy- I just turned and asked someone who wouldn't even think of lying because they didn't know that they could lie. Rock Star was always a go-to in a case like this. She'd help me get to the bottom of it as long as she felt like talking that day. Magical was another, although he always began with the truth and then veered off into discussing his robot. (That pesky robot still did not follow the rules that robots are not allowed in school...)

I'd often forget that Rock Star did not have a concept of mind yet until we would read Goldilocks, one of her favorite stories. When the bears come home and question why their house is a disaster Rock Star loses it. "Goldilocks!" she would squeal, with obvious frustration at the bears. She knows it was that sneaky Goldilocks, why don't they? She got particularly frustrated when we read a version of the book where the bears decide it must be aliens or monsters before they find out the truth. She absolutely could not stand that they would think something that wasn't true. 

We did puppet shows with the story but unless Rock Star was Goldilocks she could not make it through the final scene when the bears come home. If she was playing the part of a bear she'd immediately skip to the bedroom scene and yell "Goldilocks!" not giving anyone the chance to say "Whose been eating my porridge?", or even "Whose been sleeping in my bed!"  Sometimes even when she was Goldilocks she'd yell "Goldilocks!" and have her puppet pop out of bed and run away the minute the bears came home. She knew the answer was there, so why go on pretending? 

Magical has always been able to make up stories, but the actual concept of deceit was not something I'd ever seen him practice. It's not that I want to be lied to, or that I want to encourage the practice. But I couldn't help inwardly celebrate that Magical had found this new skill. It is a sign of growth and development. Now we just have to make sure he uses it for good...  

Magical & the Baby*

On Wednesday Partner-in-Crime, Baby Lipstick and I all headed out to go to Magical's house to see if he would join us for the open library hours at school. Sadly his medicine requires him to stay inside his house so we weren't able to take him to the library but we were able to hang out for a bit, catch up and read some books.

The minute I walked in holding Baby Lipstick he yelled, "I told you not to bring it!"

Poor Magical. He had told me exactly that. Every time I told him I was going to bring my baby to his house, even before she was born, he told me "I don't think so". By the end of the school year he was tired of my teasing and no longer felt the need to be polite. "No!" he'd yell rather loudly whenever I brought up the subject.

So I knew I was bringing BL into a mine-field. Especially since she was late for her afternoon nap and I was pretty sure that if Magical yelled at her she'd start crying, which in turn would make him cry and/or yell louder. (Seriously, what was I thinking??)

 All things considered the visit actually went very well. Magical had moments where he seemed to enjoy her as long as they were not touching. I put her foot against his so we could look at longer/shorter (shameful, I know, still trying to teach curriculum in the summer). "It's touching me!" he yelled, yanking his foot away.

Baby L did surprisingly well. I've never really thought anything of the "expose them to things in the womb so they'll be comfortable with those things when they come out". She'd spent hours at his house when she was in the womb and it was almost as though you could tell it on Wednesday. She relaxed in his mother's arms and seemed completely comfortable despite her previous crankiness.

I have a great picture of them sitting on the couch together, far apart so that she wouldn't touch him. He was happy to show her his toys and his scooter as long as 1) she didn't touch anything he owned and 2) his mother did not kiss her. We knew it was time to go when his mother asked if Baby L could spend the night and Magical just about cried.

It was fairly selfish of me to bring Baby L to his house, but how could I not want to have two of my favorite little people in one place?

*I should start writing a series of children's books about Magical and his adventures- Magical and the baby, Magical and his stroller, Magical and the swings. They'd be amazing!

Strollin' behind Hoover

Today Partner-in-Crime and I met Magical at his house to walk him over to the library for our school's summer library hours. First, of course, we had to explain to him that we weren't tricking him. School was still closed- we weren't trying to force him to come. Once he learned that yes, school was still closed, he was thrilled to walk to school with us to go to the library.

Getting an hour with Magical was fabulous. He got to listen to the librarian read Pete the Cat over 100 times (she was taking requests) and we got to hear all of his stories about his stroller, robot, and what he's been up to.

On the walk over he very seriously explained how vacuuming works in his house. He vacuums with his stroller and his mom uses Hoover, the vacuum.

"Hoover?" we asked

"Yeah, that's my mom's vacuum's name! Hoover. Hoover's too heavy for me, but not for my mom."

More deep breaths

The last day of school started with a a phone call from Magical's family- he refused to come to school. And frankly, that was not acceptable seeing that it was my last day with Magical after two years. Absolutely not going to happen. So my aide and I ran down to his house to bring him to school. (He lives walking distance from our school). The three of us had a great walk back to school listening to him talk about how tomorrow he is absolutely NOT coming to school no matter what anyone says. Sure, we nodded in agreement. No problem. We won't be there either.

Usually our last day of school is two hours long- not even a full half day. This year because we did not get enough snow days and they changed our last day of school we had a full day. I think I was the only teacher in our district that felt that the day was actually too short.

We played our favorite games, painted the packing boxes so that they'd be beautiful (best last day of school activity ever), joined another class for water balloon games, watched some readers' theater, finished our scrap books, sang our favorite songs, read our favorite books, had one last long free play time in the dramatic play center (everyone's favorite), and most importantly had one last dance party. We played I've Got a Feeling on repeat and watched as Magical, Rock Star and the others danced their hearts out in their own special ways. The dancing was good for me. It kept me from crying.

 For awhile.

I bit my lip so many times trying to hold it together. This year, this classroom, these kids have all been pure magic. I don't think I'll ever have another year like this. The class was amazing. They were all such good friends. They had this family-like connection that even us as teachers couldn't quite understand. They had their own jokes and their own understandings for what it was like to be them. The empathy they felt for one another came from an understanding of what it is like to not be able to communicate like you want to, not be able to access equipment and materials like you want to, and to just be a little different than the other kids. When Rock Star made sure everyone waited for our friend in a wheel chair, when they told one another "good job", "smart thinking", "Wow, I like your picture", or helped each other get crayons, count the napkins for snack, or reminded someone that water in the sink was for hand washing and not for playing- their interactions with each other were more powerful than when we interfered as teachers.
Watching them hug each other on the last day was both magical and so, so hard.

On the last day of school the think-tank's tradition is to go out to the road and wave goodbye to the buses and cars as they leave. The kids love this so much that they bring video cameras to tape their teachers waving frantically. Now they all have video footage of me sobbing, tears streaming down my face, trying to stop myself because seriously, why are those kids video taping me???

It was so hard to watch those cars and buses drive away. As their little hands waved at us from the windows I realized that these fast glimpses of smiling faces may be the last time I see many of these children. Children who I taught years ago but still care so much about. Children I've watched grow from being screaming kindergartners with significant needs to being caring, thoughtful and smart members of their upper elementary classes. Students I taught to read who I then stopped every morning in the hallways to ask them what chapter books they were now reading. Students who have overcome so much considering their difficult home lives and the turmoil they live with. These are kids who have occupied my thoughts daily for a year, or two. Kids who I'd think about falling asleep at night and think about again first thing in the morning. Children whose cases have driven me to read more books, learn more, and improve my teaching. Watching those little faces drive away was just too much. I lost it. The tears couldn't stay in.

When Rock Star drove by her car windows were open and she was leaning out the window, with the biggest, most confident grin. She waved like a princess. The shy little girl who avoided eye contact with any adult she didn't know (and sometimes those she did) was leaving on her last day of first grade with royal confidence. I hope I never forget the image of her driving away from me, destined to go on with confidence and excitement.

Writing Workshop Conference

Me: Magical, what are you drawing?

Magical: My feet.

Me: Hmmmm.  Those look like a lot of lines. How many feet do you have?

Magical: I don't know!

Me: Well, let's look at your feet.

Magical: I can't- they are in my shoes!

Me:  Ok, well let's count your shoes.

Magical....  Hmmmm....  ONE.... TWO....  I HAVE TWO FEET!!!


I heart my job.

Independence

Magical is working on being independent with his self help skills. Every time he leaves the bathroom he asks for someone to button him back up without attempting to do it first. Today I told him that I would only help him if he tried it himself first.
"Myself?" he asked, as though I was teaching him a new word.
"Yes, yourself."
He began waving his hands around his button while still staring wide-eyed at me.
"Magical, look down," I coached, modeling looking down for him.
He immediately dropped his eyes and his mouth fell open in disbelief as he watched his fingers almost close the button. Every time he came close to snapping it he'd look up at me in excitement, causing his hands to fall away from the button.
"I'm doing it myself!" he cheered every time right before he lost it. He was giddy with the power of closing his own snaps, yet too giddy to actually close the deal. Baby steps. Today was the idea of looking at what we do. Maybe tomorrow we'll tackle looking the whole time.