Pancakes, Doughnuts, All Things Round and Unexpected

I happened upon the job.  It was a brief search, a casual one.  I logged onto to Craigslist thinking that I would just look around.  Actually, I thought I might find something unusual to buy, not a job.  There in front of me was a job description that sounded perfect to cure those "I-wanna-baby-blues" I'd been having as I got closer and closer to menopause.  So, I applied.  The baby room job was filled.  But then, she added, there was another position in a classroom with older children.  I truly doubted that I would like it.  After all, when you've wiped a series of four snotty noses, changed hundreds of diapers over the years, and scraped off more dried up pasta off the walls, floor and ceiling then anyone could imagine, why would I want to be with two year olds again?

I went the first day, with trepidation and a bottle of water.  You just never know when you'll need that bottle of water.  They eyed me with caution.  They smiled slyly at first.  Just a small glance over the paper plate holding their perfectly cut diagonal piece of American cheese and a few Wheat thins.  Before long there were exclamations about the orange nail polish one little girl adorned.  Her eyes were earnest as she exclaimed in a mostly misunderstood language, that someone had painted her nails "orwange" the night before.  I nodded my sincere approval.  I would have gone on to talk about the color of her dress and how it perfectly matched her nails, but my attention was quickly needed in the area of a very serious discussion of a fire truck and a motorcycle.  It became apparent that Ms. Orange Nails had a father that had a motorcycle and this brought a community show of admiration.  I'm not quite sure they really understood each other, but the admiration was there regardless.

Snack time was over.  Each child brought their empty, or half-full, plate to the trash along with their cup and deposited them in the garbage.  The story was about to begin, and they quickly took to their seats on the carpets.  "Bottoms on the carpet, Friends."  Each child was earnest in their desire to be sure that their friends had the space to sit for both their bottoms and however their feet needed to be.  Some were sincere in their desire to hear the story.  Some were used to the routine, and though they liked the story and the routine, comfort was the more important matter at hand.  One boy stood quietly by the bookshelf, running his hand over and over the ridge on the very edge.  He never joined the group, but neither did he leave it.  He merely listened from afar, within ear shot, but not closely tucked into his classmates.

I was in awe at the efficiency, and more importantly, the kindness genuinely given to each child.  There were only twelve.  But for the attention that each one was given, there might as well been two.  It was time to line up to take the leisurely stroll outside.  The rope that I had seen in other day cares over the years and found so offensive was not any where to be seen.  Out came a long plastic line, about every foot or so was a round circle in which each child could loop their arm.  They stood in line, which at two, or less, is a very difficult task to manage.  It requires much concentration, as well as patience.  There was bit of foot moving, some arm waving, but out the door they walked.  First to the tune of "ABC"s and then quietly with their forefinger to their mouths as they passed the infant room so not to wake the babies.  I have no idea if the babies actually were asleep, but this kept them engaged for a few more minutes, until the next door opened and into the lobby they went.  Outside they sang children's songs as they attempted to walk in a line.  They were learning a skill that they truly would need in a school room setting.  They were serious in their attempts, but in truth there were a few domino disturbances along the way.  One stopped to gaze at a butterfly, which normally would be completely acceptable and welcome had the leader seen it.  But since she didn't catch that moment and child number seven did, this small stop in step was enough to cause a severe domino effect.  No one was mortally wounded and all were dusted off and moved on in the line.  The conversation of the butterfly still went down the line.  They had forgotten the wounded knee.

They day went on.  I was only there for three short hours, at the end of the day.  As each parent came and each class become smaller, they were consolidated into one classroom with two teachers.  There he was.  The beautiful boy I had seen on the playground running over his classmates.  He didn't seem to engage in their play, neither did he stand aside.  When he came into my classroom at the end of the day he wandered over to the play kitchen and found a plastic pancake.  This was his security blanket.  When he repeatedly said, "Mommy, Daddy come."  I would answer that, indeed, they would come and what a fabulous pancake he had.  I would redirect his attention to the yellow block, the pictures in a book, or a different piece of plastic food.  But as the minutes passed and each child left with their parents, his concerns became more apparent.  So did his conversations about his pancake, and the picture of a doughnut he had found in a book.  I hugged him, sang to him, talked about the yellow block, the fire engine, the playground, as he continued to talk about his pancake.  His mother came, and though giving up his pancake was hard, he left with true joy in his beautiful green eyes.

The next day I came back to the job.  I came back because I said I would "try it out" for two days to see how it felt.  But I knew how it felt.  I knew that there are very few times in a child's life that you can be the be all and end all.  That you are their immediate world, even if, for the moment, you are not their parent or grandparent. I brought my guinea pig and some broccoli to feed him.  Honest to goodness, it was like God had handed the tablets to Moses.  Nothing else was more important at that moment.  This fuzzy guinea pig sat there, nibbled a bit, and they used their "gentle" hands to softly touch him.  I thought I was hooked.  I put the guinea pig up.  We wrangled twelve arms into twelve colorful rings and we sang about that Itsy Bitsy Spider until we got to the playground gate.  I gathered my rings, closed the gate, and heard and felt something from behind.

"Pancakes.  Doughnuts?" with a small hand wrapped around my leg.  Yes, m'am.  I want the job.  Under first name, please put Pancakes.  Under last name, please put Doughnuts.  Nothing more to say.