Subbing in Kindergarten

    I'm standing in the middle of chaos - wondering what the hell I'm doing here. Interviewing physicists and clergy is much easier than what I've just signed up for. Heck, even interviewing chefs is easier than this and they oftentimes possess inflated egos. All I can say about that - is the Food Network has created small hometown chefs who think they are celebrity chefs just because they can grilled a steak properly. To be fair - I can't really grill a steak properly- so I will give them props for that.

    But media jobs are hard to find and I was in need of some income - so I signed up to be a substitute teacher. After all, I homeschooled the girls during their middle school years and we work on assignments during the summers. I also have a background in education, although not formal classroom experience - so why not?

    After a background check and two and half hours of training I'm ready to lead the classroom. Or so the sub coordinator tells me.

    Um, no. I thought I was ready to lead the classroom and then I decided to sub for a kindergarten classroom for my first time.
    It was like 24 Baby Blueberries at the same time. I wasn't a temporary kindergarten teacher - I was a manager of chaos. A director of potty breaks, Band-Aids, and oh, please don't eat the math cubes.

    To be fair the day had no chance not to be a little on the chaotic side- the teacher had gotten ill and went home half way through the day. So the little guys went to lunch and when they came back- there I was to take over - after they had only attended two weeks of school. They don't even have their routine down and their teacher has gone missing.

      It started out calm and managed though. Our first assignment was watching a Leapfrog video on the alphabet. But I couldn't find the video. So we searched the Youtube for it. I found it, but not the entire song.
    "That's not the right one," one little boy told me.
    "I don't know which one it is, guys."
    "It's that one," another student insisted.
    "No, it's not. It's that one."
    "I see Pete the Cat on there- can we watch that?"
    "No," I said, finally finding the correct Leapfrog video.
     All the kids joyfully sang with the song and tried to make their letter sounds. Okay, this sub thing is going to go okay, I think to myself.
     Then we have to work on our All About Me books. Do you know how hard it is to pass out books when you don't know anyone's name and half the class isn't listening for their name? And some of the kids can't even pronounce their names well enough for you to understand them?
    Finally, all the books are passed out and I'm reading a book to them while they color.
    Then total and complete chaos erupts. The noise level has slowly and steadily grown higher and then I turn around to see that two of the little girls have dumped a tub of crayons on the floor and the two boys sitting at their table are running over the crayons with their chairs. OMG
   
    And that's when the parapro walks in to pick up a student.

    I haven't been that embarrassed for a long time - not since I asked a chef how to make peasant soup instead of pheasant soup. (He was wondering if I was seriously asking about cannibal recipes.)

     She instantly goes to the front of the room and threatens to take away recess if they don't quiet down and start listening to the sub.
     A startled hushness falls over the previously noisy kindergartners. Lose recess? The horror.

    And for the rest of the day - when ever the noise level started creeping up- all I had to do was remind them that they wanted to go out for recess, right? Instant quiet.
   And I also kept the two little trouble makers separated for the rest of the day. That helped a lot.

   At the end of the day the counselor came in to do a activity with the children- they kept her on her toes too. She had a photo of her dogs and do you know how much five years old want to talk about all their pets - dead and alive? I'm now aware that there are quite a few cats and hamsters buried in people's backyards throughout town.
       After the children leave she comes up to me and says, do you know how many people won't sub in kindergarten because of how busy they are? Quite a few.
      I nod, still trying to catch my breath. But surprisingly, I found myself thinking I would come back - but with stickers. Definitely stickers and maybe Goldfish crackers.

    
    

Answer to the Meaning of Life is Unavailable- please try placing your order again next week

    
   When Bean's English teacher tells her he considers me and Hero Hottie endearing- what I'm supposed to think? Is it because she wrote a letter to him last year about how we're just failed artists - who wanted to be scientists - who just ended up being overly tired and too broke working-class stiffs? Or is because she said we try and try and everything we do ends up failing?

    Is endearing another word for pitied?

    Or is it a sign of solidarity- from an English teacher to a writer - we who must have words in the way the lungs need oxygen? Does he recognize a shared love for words, for expression, for mastering the skill of trying? 

     I would like to think it's because we asked him about his pothos houseplant that he keeps at school. Actually the conversation started with Hero Hottie asking about the huge windows in his classroom. Because Hero Hottie is not going to ask you about the weather, or other topics that are generally considered 'small talk' - he asks big questions, curious questions, sometimes uncomfortable questions.

     And most of the time - people answer him. Because no one actually wants to talk about the weather all the time - we want to connect and be neighbors and be part of a community.

    We want to say things like, "I'm sorry your spouse died, even though I only know you from the times you would buy Girl Scouts cookies from Abu." Or "do you ever get lonely because you live by yourself ever since your fiance died and you never found love again?"

     So Hero Hottie asks the English teacher about his huge windows and this lead to the health and happiness of his pothos plant - which didn't do so good over the summer because it was moved to a location that was too sunny. The conversation continues from there and somehow we become endearing during this time. 

    Perhaps I should just assume he meant it caused him feelings of admiration or fondness. I can handle those reasons.

     Or perhaps he just liked the fact that we took the time to treat the teacher like a regular human being and asked him about his windows, and his classroom, and his plant.

    Either way - whenever Bean gets annoyed at me - because she's seventeen which means she's constantly annoyed at me - I will remind her that I'm actually endearing.